E.C. Stilson's Blog, page 22

Facing a Bear: God, Why Am I Sick?

“God, why am I sick?” I asked.

I dreamt about God again….

I sat at a stream, near a mountainous location I can no longer traverse in real life. I’ve struggled to exercise and build stamina, but I can’t walk more than a quarter of a mile without experiencing such extreme pain and fatigue. This area—my favorite spot up Slate Mountain Trail—is unfortunately, 3 miles in. 

“God,” I repeated, “why am I sick? Why do I have terminal cancer? And why are we here, up Slate Mountain Trail?” It’s the most magical place on earth. Sometimes, when I’ve gotten radiation or scans, I’ve closed my eyes and imagined walking in that water with Mike and the kids, listening for sage hens, or looking for moose tracks like we used to. It’s just…so beautiful.

“You wanted to come here.” The voice echoed behind me. 

“I did…but not in a dream.” Anger lit my words. Then I tried tempering my emotions because I felt as if some strange, animalistic being hovered behind me—and if I turned around, He’d kill me. And fearing this wild animal, I suddenly feared God. He was in control. He could end my life in a moment…or spare me.

“Sometimes my answer to prayer isn’t exactly what you want,” He said. “People want all of the good things. They want youth, knowledge, hindsight without the suffering. Elisa, you asked for refinement. You asked for growth.”

“I didn’t ask for cancer. I did NOT ask to leave before my kids could grow up and have families.” With my back still facing Him, I took off my sandals and dipped my toes into the stream’s water. It seemed a bit disrespectful, but I didn’t care. I no longer feared suffering. Doctors have already said my time is limited. This animal would do with me as He saw fit. 

“The point of life is to learn and love. Learn to love others. Learn who you are and then learn to love yourself,” His voice soothed. “Understand faults and see them as opportunities to learn. Strive to live without harsh judgement of others or yourself. It’s about acceptance. Accepting life. Accepting death. Seeing nature for what it is. It’s quite comforting for most people when they finally ‘see’ it.”

I kicked some water and watched it move over my feet and far down the trail. Constant change showed in the bubbling stream. “I’m dying, God. This…THIS is hard to process. I feel like I’m getting ready for a huge vacation that I’ll never come back from. But I don’t want to go. They said I could have up to ten more years. I just want to know. I want to plan.”

“Elisa, no living human knows for certain the exact time that they’ll die. That’s unnatural. Enjoy what you can. Accept the moment.”

“Just accept my fate? It isn’t that easy.” I paused, finally asking something I’ve wondered since the dreams began. “Are you even God?”

“Does it matter?”

I thought about it and decided I wasn’t sure.

“You prayed for refinement. If this situation helps you grow, doesn’t that make you feel better, like there’s a reason?”

I remained obstinately silent.

“YOU want there to be a reason, Elisa.”

“No… Well, maybe. IS there a reason?”

“You’d have a hard time accepting if there isn’t. Maybe you’re not a pantheist after all.”

The being stepped closer to my back. I knew because I felt the heat of him on my neck, and his shadow, wavering in the stream, looked suspiciously like a massive bear—a deadly grizzly….

After I woke up, as I prepared to get more scans at the hospital last week, I kept wondering why I dreamed that God took the form of a bear and why it’s so damn important for me to feel like there’s a reason I’m sick. Would God making me sick really be better than me getting sick for no reason? I’m still not sure. 

But regardless, I still have faith that there’s some sort of plan. I need to know there’s a reason my son died at the exact moment he did. I need to believe God is watching out for me. I guess I do NEED to believe there’s a reason I’m sick. Maybe I can use this to help people appreciate their health and their lives. Appreciate their ability to visit places like my Slate Mountain Trail. 

Grizzly, cancer, weird dreams, and philosophy aside, I’ll make it through this somehow. What’s the worst that can happen? Yeah… Let’s not go there. 

Right now I’m grateful for the dreams—and glad I’m writing them down. Thank you for letting me share them with you. I probably need to study them and their representation in my dream book. I’m dealing with a lot here.

A “hell yeah” kind of day—this is so cute!

Mike is so busy taking care of me and the kids that he doesn’t get out much. I don’t have the stamina that I did before cancer, and Mike has often stepped up to cook, clean, go grocery shopping, and do anything else that I might not be able to do after treatments. 

Luckily, he got to hang out with one of his best friends a few weeks ago—and something unforgettable happened. They had a couple of beers and some pizza. Knowing they couldn’t finish off the last two pieces, Mike asked a few people at the bar if they wanted a slice. “I do,” one man said with quite a bit of enthusiasm. 

Mike brought the last slice around, and when no one wanted it, he offered it to the man who sat eating the first piece. “Are you serious?” the man asked, even more excited than before. 

“Call it a two-for-one,” Mike joked before sitting at the other side of the counter with his friend. 

And even though they sat several seats away, they could hear the man, so jazzed over that second slice of pizza. “Hell yeah,” he said, then took another bite. “Hell…YEAH!”

Mike came home that night and told me the story. We both chuckled and grinned. “I’ll never forget how happy he was,” Mike said.

I thought about his words a lot because I want to be that appreciative—so even a small gesture could create the best moment ever. I guess the fact remains that even with cancer, every day DOES seem to hold something magical and fun. I just never know what it will be or exactly when it will happen. And despite the pain of cancer and the sadness of a terminal illness, each morning when I wake up, I can hardly wait to find out what’s in store.

The “hell yeah” guy must see life the same way that I do. For him, the magical moment was getting the free pizza, for me it was seeing Mike’s eyes light up as he told me about the “hell yeah” guy and the gratitude he’d experienced at a bar in downtown Pocatello. I wonder if that man even realizes what a gem he is. I sure hope he does.

The Master Luthier and My Violin

 The room ran so high with violins that I spotted a rolling ladder similar to those used in old libraries. A whimsical-looking woman slid down one of the closest ladders and grinned at me. "Well, you're finally here! You're one of those humans who's always trying to earn God's love," the Master Luthier said. "What a silly concept! God's love exists just like He does. It just is. It always was. Always will be. Nothing can change it. But you've heard all of this before. I guess you need to see it to fully understand."

Her curly hair stuck out sporadically from her head like she'd suffered an electrocution, and the huge apron she wore made her tiny frame look even smaller. "Take your time. Find the violin that calls to you."

"But there must be thousands of violins here," I argued. "How can I possibly—"

"It won't be that hard. Trust me. I've even placed your violin on a bottom row."

I walked down row after row feeling like Indiana Jones searching for the Holy Grail. All of the violins seemed interesting, but how would I find the right one? Finally, I closed my eyes and gingerly turned before grabbing the violin directly in front of me. "It beautiful," I squealed after opening my eyes.

"Well, I didn't expect you to find that one," the Master Luthier said. "I guess it actually makes sense though. Why don't you go ahead and play it."

I took both the violin and bow from a hanger, and as I played, a wind swept through the place. It was perfectly in tune, so rich and full. This instrument had an impeccable range, but especially resonated on the lower D and G strings. My fingers wandered over each section growing with curiosity and passion until I finally stopped and held it at my side. "I've never, ever experienced something like that. It felt…alive."

"Every violin in here represents a soul. I'd hoped you'd find your own, but you found the violin that represents…your husband."

I sighed in disbelief! "You're kidding!" I wanted to play again, just to feel his passion and love for life. I had felt existence through his eyes—and it was breathtaking, empowering. I suddenly sensed other violins around me. Some felt sad and depleted. Others felt old and wise or young and innocent, free and kind, angry and vengeful.

"Maybe it worked out best this way. Instead of playing Mike's violin again, I want you to play this one." She pointed to a cherry fiddle next to it. That one looked worse for wear. It had dents and scratches. Scars in all the same places where I would imagine my scars from surgeries and even bad decisions from adventures in my youth. The bridge looked a bit skewed, and the bow seriously needed to be rehaired.

"But that violin looks terrible." I scrunched my nose in disgust. "Please don't tell me that violin is me."

"Who else! Would you mind playing it?"

I picked up the pathetic excuse for an instrument. It wouldn't stay in tune. And I couldn't even play two strings at the same time because one would go flat while the other stayed in perfect pitch. "This is chaos," I finally said, defeated.

"You wanted to learn about God's love," she said. If you made both of these violins, would you think that one is better than the other?"

"Absolutely!" I said.

"And that's where you're wrong. Experiences don't ruin people—these scratches and scars; God can use things to make people better. Imperfections can simply give violins a different sound." She brought the fiddle over to a fading workbench and began making minor adjustments. "Most people would have no idea what would need to be altered on this violin, but I do because I'm the Master Luthier. I've created stringed instruments for centuries! I love each violin, putting a part of myself into every instrument. Yes, some appear to have been through more than others; they've suffered terrible situations that have led to even more terrible decisions, but I can't help loving each violin. I know their current capabilities and their true potential. I know what they were meant for and what they could've been if life were fair."

"You don't think life is fair?"

She continued "fixing" the violin.

"A rabbi once said that 'we must spend our time judging ourselves, rather than others,'" I said. "Would that make life fair?"

"But, what if you judge even yourself too harshly?" She handed me the violin that represented my soul. "Your idea of perfection is unattainable."

"I don't want to play it again. You've made minor adjustments, nothing can fix this violin—or who I am."

"Just try it, Elisa."

I held the violin at the ready, and the thing took control. I played, and as I did, I remembered some of the most beautiful moments from my life: the day I married Mike, the days each of my children were born, all of the love I've felt from family and friends… And in that moment, I saw how God must see me, just how I suddenly saw this violin. It felt much different than playing Mike's violin. This one was part of me—and although just a dream, it seemed one of the most magical moments of my life.

Tears streamed down my face. "Oh… Thank you. Thank you for this. I wish I could come back here always and play the violins. Just feeling the love God has for each of us."

"And you thought you were broken. Often, all we need are some improvements, and we'll be perfectly in tune with who we've supposed to be, so we can reach our true potential."

I stared at my violin before hanging it up. The thing with instruments is that after you've played one for so long, it becomes somehow seasoned. The violin I own has grooves from my exact fingers and grip. That makes it easy to shift to various positions became my hand automatically stops at the grooves I've made, like water washing over rock for decades. This violin seemed the same; it wasn't perfect in the usual sense, but it did suddenly feel perfect to me. "Will I ever get to see you again? I'd love to come back here over and over." I didn't mean to be a voyeur but feeling other people's souls was quite incredible. 

"Maybe, when your time on earth is done," she said. And that was the last time I saw the Master Luthier.

I think this dream was inspired by the poem "The Touch of the Master's Hand." If you haven't read that, it's definitely worth finding. 

For more of my writing, please check out my latest book here: https://www.amazon.com/Two-More-Years...

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A Ghost in a Violin Shop

The nurse came back into the room. "I just spoke with the doctor about your ultrasound and the other tests. The mass in your breast is benign. You don't have to worry about breast cancer on top of everything else." 

Relief poured over me, and I somehow kept wondering if my dream about speaking to God had anything to do with this moment. I left, but that whole day I couldn't stop thinking about falling asleep in the waiting room. So, after reading a chapter to Trey and Indy, like we do every night, I rested in bed and thought about "God's" words again. "I wish I could dream about you again, God." And as I pictured that thought in my mind, I fell asleep—oddly thinking about a violin shop.  

“Mr. Shoup!" I said. Jim Shoup wore spectacles and hunched over a violin he'd been sanding. "Jim!" 

He turned to me with mirth in his eyes. "Elisa, you little fiddler, you. I've been waiting. This is where I meet all of my old students." 

I couldn't believe he even remembered me. I'd taken fiddling lessons from him for a short time, but he had taught so many other students; I felt like one of hundreds. 

“I played my violin in Ogden several years back, and someone came up, saying my style reminded them of you. So, I guess, your legacy lives on." 

His kind smile wrinkled the scruffy skin on his cheeks. "That's the same day you found out that I'd died." 

I nodded. "I'm so sorry I didn't know. I would've gone to your funeral." He started sanding slowly, meticulously. "Was it scary to die?" I suddenly asked. 

“I don't even remember it," he said. "Living people are so worried about death. They pour over it, read articles and watch films about it. Psychics and mediums are so popular because they usually focus on how someone died. People pray constantly asking God to lengthen their lives. And when they're dying, they'll try any treatment just to live a little while longer…just to prevent the moment of their own death. And why is death something to be feared? When did something so natural become so terrifying? Why focus on that single moment when someone's actual life should mean so much more?" 

It felt rhetorical, and I couldn’t think of an apt response anyway. He was the dead one; he should've had all the answers. 

“Elisa, are you scared to die? Are you scared that you might need to have that back surgery again?" I didn't respond. "It's okay to be scared." 

“I'm not scared of the pain," I said. "But last time, I almost died." I walked over to him and started studying the violin he worked on. It shone with blond and red woods. I could only imagine what it would feel like in my hands. I ached to hold it and bring the wood to life. "If I had a dime for every time I've almost died," I admitted. 

He chuckled over that one. "If I had a million dollars for when I did die."

It felt weird joking about death with someone who'd been dead for so many years. "A million must be a lot in Heaven. On Earth, you'd need more like a billion with gas prices these days." 

“Well, money doesn't matter anymore. Maybe it never did." He held the violin at eye level and peered down the stringless fingerboard. 

“After stage four cancer, I understand suffering. It reminds me of labor. You just get to a point where you're ready to have the baby—you're not even scared of the pain anymore. So…I'm just scared of being away from my family and friends. I want to watch my kids go through all of their milestones. I want to be there for them and Mike. It just sounds so lonely, being so far away from them, like staring through a window...forever. Would I still even be able to talk with them?" 

He rested his hand on my shoulder. "Why do you think you're talking with me right now? That's why I'm here." 

“Jim—Mr. Shoup, how did you know about my battle with cancer? You even seemed to know about what happened when I played my violin in Ogden." 

He laughed. "I guess I've been looking in on you from time to time. Just hoping you'll stay that bright, happy girl I taught how to fiddle so many years ago." 

I couldn't quit smiling. "That's really nice to hear. I guess if I'd gone first, I would've liked to check in on you too." 

He set the violin gently on the table. "There's someone who wants to talk with you." Then Mr. Shoup brought me into a room with thousands upon thousands of violins. "I want you to meet the Master Luthier." 

“Luthier?" I hadn't said that word in decades, back from when I found my dream violin. Plus, the only person who really comes to mind after hearing that term is the Italian, Antonio Stradivar. 

"Come on, Elisa. I thought you wanted to learn about God's love." 

“How did you know—" But none of this made sense, and I didn't need to ask any more questions. So, I followed Mr. Shoup farther into the room that glistened with varnished wood and smelled of freshly cut spruce and maple.

Why I Haven't Prayed to God

 I've had something HIGHLY unusual happen. In fact, it's so incredibly odd that I've debated whether to write this. But my radiation oncologist called me this morning with news about my most-recent scans, and I knew I should tell you about the last four days. Say I'm crazy. Say this is what happens to people who are facing death from a terminal illness. Tell me this isn't "real" because I believe in a God who is far removed from religion. Yet, despite all of that, on Monday I started having unforgettable dreams. In fact, every time I fall asleep—which is frequent because of fatigue—I dream that I'm talking…with God.

Monday: I sat in a waiting room. The tech just finished a second mammogram and confirmed that there is a mass in my left breast. "I'm sorry for the wait," she said, "but the doctor said you need an ultrasound today. That mass is extremely suspicious, especially since you already have stage four cancer. We're experiencing delays, and you could be waiting for up to an hour. Is that okay? Do you have time to stay here that long?"
I nodded. "Yes. I can wait." They'd seen all of my imaging from April back when things had begun to look bleaker than ever. I exhibited signs of progressing cancer in my back, and a recent PET scan showed spots in my lungs. I didn't know how I would truly feel if cancer had progressed to my left breast as well. "God," I thought, "my entire body is falling apart to the point that this is insane. Not to be dramatic, but you took some of my spine and I don't want to lose my boobs too—they're my only good part that's left!"
I sat there so long, staring at the clock on the wall, freaking out. Tick. Tick. Tick. And that's when, I fell asleep….
_____
My consciousness floated in an area without gravity or sound. It hit me as ironic that I could think, yet the place felt void of ALL energy. I couldn't see my body or anything. I could simply sense an all-encompassing purity around me, but not even that used energy to exist. It just…was.
"Why did it take you so long to pray that I would heal you?" The words enveloped me, and I realized I felt them more than heard them.
"You're God," I thought, simply knowing who I conversed with. "What's the point of praying for what I want? You'll do what you need to anyway. You know a heck of a lot more than I do." I paused. "Plus, who am I to ask for something if it goes against your plan?"
Nothing happened, and I remained, waiting for a response.
"I trust you." The words finally came from my consciousness, more gently this time. I already had cancer, the last thing I needed was the wrath of God as well!
"Do you? Do you really trust me?" The words didn't seem punitive, but they did feel contrary. "You thank me for things, but you rarely ask me for what you want. Why?"
"You know why." I didn't mean for it to sound angry, but it did. "When Zeke died…. I BEGGED you to heal him. I got down on my knees and cried. I spent hours upon hours talking to you, asking you to fix my son. And then—when I took him off life support, I kept thinking that somehow, some way you'd heal him. But you didn't. Some lady even came up to me at his funeral and said my son would've lived if I'd had more faith. Well, the joke was on her! I had enough faith that it should've moved mountains. That's when I realized how futile it was to pray. You'd do what you needed to anyway—I mean, you're God! And after Zeke died, I did finally come to some sort of peace. Nothing would ever bring him back, but I could see that maybe you had a plan. That we can find good even in the most harrowing of situations. That Zeke was only meant to live a short while. That everyone—including me—became better just by knowing him for that small amount of time. And I learned to find joy despite heartache. Life is hard, there's no point in making it even harder by depriving ourselves of potential happiness that we let pass us by during the tough times."
"But you finally asked me to heal you. After all of this time. Why?"
"Maybe there's power in surrender."
"In surrender? Or in acknowledging pride? Elisa, be honest with yourself; you didn't want to ask me, in case you aren't healed. You're worried that you'll finally put faith into this and that you'll be let down again—like you were with Zeke."
"Okay, fine! I didn't want you to know that I'm finally breaking down, that maybe life is getting the best of me."
"And you thought that your actions showed strength. That it would somehow impress me. There are so many humans, so many creatures, so much creation—" "You're right. And compared to everything, God, I'm almost nothing. And so, yes, I got to the point that my pride didn't matter anymore. I don't care if you think I'm weak. I begged you to heal me because this is hard. Because I want to see my kids grow up. Because I'm tried of seeing everyone who cares about me struggle because they hate seeing me so damn sick all the time. And because…I can feel myself breaking on some days. Constant suffering seemed doable the first several months, even the first year. But almost two years of this—without an end in sight except death—to think that life will never ever be the same as it was before my diagnosis. Yes, I prayed for you to heal me."
"You need to stop trying to win my love."
"But, I'm not—"
"Stop trying. I know who you are. I made you. You are flawed. You're a mess. You're chaos. BUT you are also joy. I made you to be joy."
A strange kind of love washed over me. I felt such truth in those words. I've always wondered who I am, what my root is, but to get this confirmation, even in such an odd venue. It just rang true.
"That's why you see joy in so much—it's a reflection of your true nature. The good people see around them, that's who they are. The good you see, is JOY! But it's time to see strength in unexpected places as well. Where you make joy out of hardships, strength can be found too. In weakness there can be strength."
"Everyone's heard that, but what exactly does that mean?"
"It took strength to acknowledge that you're weak. It takes strength to truly admit to pride. Pride can eat people alive without their knowledge, and it can be MUCH worse than any cancer."
"Even melanoma?"
"Yes." I could almost hear the mirth. "Even melanoma. Acknowledging faults is not weakness or a sign or brokenness. That's finding room to grow as a person. You found strength in admitting that you feel weak. Your body might seem like it's failing you, but as it fails, you are growing in the ways that truly matter."
"But…God. Is it too much to ask for both? Can't you heal my body too?"
_____
"Elisa? Elisa," the nurse's voice woke me. My head had slumped to the side, and my neck throbbed from where doctors have said the tumor is located in my thoracic spine. "It's time for the ultrasound."
"Okay." I straightened my hospital gown—which I'd cinched in certain places to make it much more flattering around my fake boobs, what was I just saying about pride?—then I followed her through the doorway. But no matter how much I tried focusing on the ultrasound, I couldn't stop thinking about the strange dream I'd just had. So much truth laced that conversation; illusion or not, I hoped I'd never forget those words.

Interview on a Podcast: Excelsior Journeys

Some days I feel like I’m living in a sci-fi novel. I had several more appointments yesterday, and then got to come back to Idaho. Yay!

Thanks to Sky for all of her help going to Utah and back this week. 🥰

Oh! And I shared this in another post, but a podcast about my journey with cancer went live yesterday. You can find that here: EC Stilson Gives Us ‘Two More Years’

She Reignited My Passion for Life—Last Week

One of the people who has changed my life the most is Dee Ready. If you’ve read my memoir, “Two More Years,” you know some of the story: how we met over a decade ago through blogging, how she edited my novel (for free) after I paid another editor who never did the work, and how she somehow—through it all—became like family. 

I still can’t explain how or why certain miracles happen, but I can say I’ve experienced them frequently. Meeting Dee has been one of those experiences in my life. 

In her early years, she joined a convent and became a nun. (That story here: https://www.amazon.com/Prayer-Wasnt-E... ) but because of that, she never dated much, never got married, and never had children. Instead, she became an expert on etymology and Latin, taught at prestigious schools, wrote a bestselling book published by Crown (a subsidiary of Random House), spent time abroad, AND amassed a wealth of knowledge that’s truly rare to find. In fact, we play Bladerdash and it isn’t fun because she already knows ALL of the words that the rest of us are trying to lie about. Leave it to an ex-nun!

Anyway, Dee decided she would come out and see us this May for two weeks, the longest she’s ever come. We’ve made a habit of seeing each other twice every year. Usually I go out there with one of the kids, and she’ll also come out here. But this time was different. I’m so sick with cancer…and tired. I’m just not my bouncy, Energizer Bunny self, and I discerned so much concern in Dee’s 86-year-old eyes. 

We played games and had hilarious conversations—like usual—but then something strange happened. I saw an excitement spark; Dee had an idea. “I’m excited to get that tattoo,” Dee said, and I almost swallowed a grape without chewing it!

My oldest daughter, Ruby, works at Mad Ink Studios and has garnered quite a list of clients. “Are you serious?” I asked. “Ruby will be stoked.”

“Yes!” 

I studied Dee. I didn’t want to be a “stick in the mud,” but I don’t even have a tattoo—for crying out loud. And sometimes older skin is thinner than it used to be. I just didn’t want her to get hurt. But I didn’t say anything, and that following Saturday I actually brought Dee to get a tattoo of a lion!

“Does it hurt?” a girl asked after finding out Dee had been a nun. 

“Actually, not at all,” Dee—that literary legend—said. 

Everyone else paled because some people would be crying on the ground while getting a tattoo. Then Dee told stories about the ‘60s and her time in the convent. It was the strangest, most wonderful conversation I could possibly imagine EVER happening at a tattoo parlor!

The excitement of the week didn’t stop there. Dee got that tattoo, went on a motorcycle ride with a handsome young biker, went on her first date in 50 years, and reignited my passion for life. 

I’m still not sure why God decided to let me meet Dee, but I am so thankful. It’s honestly some sort of miracle.

She sat writing her morning pages the other day, and I couldn’t help studying her. Our dogs and cats ran around the house. Our kids asked her to look at this and that and told her all sorts of stories. Our house is somewhat of a disaster because we have so much going on, but Dee practically glowed—just loving every bit of it. And I thought about all of that joy she obviously felt, she’s brought that same feeling to us, 10-fold. It’s because of her that I’m in editor. Not only did I get a friend—she taught me an entire profession. She showed me the ropes. And she never asked for anything in return….

So, the tumor board is reviewing my case today, and many things are up in the air. Remember how they found that growth in my boob? It’s benign—so THAT’S something good. (I’m soooo glad God‘s letting me keep my good part.) The team canceled femur radiation (12 hours before my mapping/prep appointment—Ug!), just saying it’s too much at this time and that the risks don’t outweigh the benefits. An MRI came back from yesterday, and my back isn’t looking stellar. My lower back muscles have “severely atrophied” and the cancer continues to persist. 

But none of that seems to matter.

I had just seen one of the dearest people get a tattoo, drive off in a Mustang for a date, and completely shine with more life than some 20-year-olds I know!

The point is that we’re all getting older. We’re all facing some type of hardship. We all have good days and bad days. Some of us, like me, even have cancer. But like my adopted family member, Dee, we can make the best of things—and brighten other people’s lives along the way. Dee is back home now, but she’s already planning her next visit. I can only imagine what that woman has up her sleeve.

What an adventurer!

Abortion, a Personal Experience

Abortion, a personal experience 

I had the privilege of watching the movie “Unplanned,” the story of Abby Johnson who was the youngest director (in history) of a Planned Parenthood clinic.

Basically, the movie details the experience of a woman who worked in an abortion clinic. My stomach clenched in knots for over half of the movie, partially because of my own experiences and also from seeing the completely believable emotions of the people on-screen. Although this did have the feel of a cross between a Christian and (almost) Hallmark movie at times, I did find it quite compelling despite the aforementioned details. In short: this is not a movie people will easily forget. 

One scene in particular stuck with me, where a family pleads with a woman, begging her to not have an abortion; watch the movie and you’ll know which scene I’m referring to. I literally felt the pain in my own heart, just listening to their words.

I’ll admit, I was terrified to watch this since I’ve experienced the death of a child, who died at two-and-a-half months at Primary Children’s Hospital. 

This might not make sense to other people, but subjects like this – especially movies – sometimes bring back memories I’m not always strong enough to face.

My experience

I got pregnant at 18. It wasn’t glamorous. I’d actually broken up with the man before it happened. I still remember the night I got pregnant because I’d been drinking. Later, the guy had no idea I was pregnant and I had no intention of telling him.

I still remember going to the doctor and the first thing they said was, “You can have an abortion.”

It’s scary being pregnant that young and single, feeling completely alone. Plus, I’d heard about childbirth and that didn’t sound like something I ever wanted to sign up for. But abortion...now that was something completely different. It brought me to this dark place, somewhere beyond scary. They urged me to do what was best for myself, calling my baby a  “fetus.” 

It was scary being pregnant so young, embarrassing too. For some reason the doctor’s words terrified me more than childbirth, embarrassment and even stretch-marks. 

I looked at them and said slowly, “I’m old enough to have sex, I’m old enough to deal with the consequences.”

I got a job at a bowling alley. Imagine my surprise when my ex showed up and asked me to marry him.

Like I wrote before, it isn’t a glamorous story, but it’s what happened. Working pregnant, unmarried at a bowling alley, now that’s what dreams are made of.

Fast forward to a time when I was pregnant with our second child. I had a feeling something was wrong and I put the ultrasound off for longer than normal. 

After the ultrasound, I got a call from the doctor. The thing is, when a doctor calls you at home, it’s not a good call.

I listened to his vinegar words and felt my body nearly crumbling beneath me as I learned that my baby had birth defects and would probably die.

I had an amniocentesis after that, to test my baby for trisomy. The whole time the doctor called my baby a fetus like he wasn’t real. I heard the word “viable” too. Viable and fetus were practically joined at the hip for that doctor.

Family members urged me to think about an abortion. The doctor said I was young, but that I needed to think beyond my years, think about the child I already had and how a sibling with birth defects could affect her. 

I refused to have an abortion. It’s difficult when people you love and doctors try pressuring you into having an abortion.

I had a dream that I gave birth to a fish. Worries plagued me. 

My son was born and although he didn’t live a long life, he impacted me more than anyone. The day I finally got to hold him, I remember how he held my finger with his tiny hand. He had the softest hair and this amazing strength to him. He snuggled into me, with so much love.  I knew then that even if he died nothing could break our bond, not regret or pain, not even death. 

I had to take him off of life support, making a choice no mother should ever have to make. When he suffocated in my arms, I wished I could die too.... We’d given him every chance to live, and it still wasn’t enough. Yet, for the time I had to fall in love with my baby...to see his beautiful eyes and feel the love of holding him in my arms. I would never trade that...for anything.

And now as I think about abortion and remember the two times I was urged to make that choice, I’m so grateful I didn’t. My first baby is now 18 and one of the most amazing people I know. I hugged her the other day after she looked at different colleges.

“You know, you and God got me through when your brother died. You’ve been my strength through everything. I became stronger, for you.”

(I wrote this for a newspaper in 2019.)

You can read more about that story here: “The Golden Sky” by EC Stilson