With nowhere else to go, I moved back in with my mother, who was living with her sister and brother-in-law and their five teenage children in a two bedroom, one bathroom apartment. Mom waited for several weeks before she came in one day from work and dropped a bombshell on me: “I changed my mind,” she announced. “I made an appointment for you to have an abortion.” I was nine-and-a-half weeks pregnant! My heart sank. How many blows can a boxer sustain to the chest before his heart gives out?
I don’t know the answer to that question, but I do know we are not created to live a life of constant hurt and emotional pain. And I wasn’t sure how much more disappointment my heart could withstand before it stopped beating. I did not intend to abort my baby. I had been taking care of myself and going to my doctor for prenatal care. “What?” I exclaimed when I heard what she said. I was unable to say much more. I was in shock. I couldn’t believe what Mom had said. All I could do was weep. She was my last hope for survival because I had to have a place to live. But she suddenly reneged on our agreement, and I felt totally powerless to change her mind about the baby.
