Amy’s Story

My story is unique in that it has two beginnings. I was born on June 6, 1980, in Ashland, Oregon. A young lady, probably a student at a nearby university, learned that she was pregnant. Medical records tell me that she discovered her pregnancy in May of that year, not even a month before I was born. She may have been alone, scared, and unsure of what to do.

Meanwhile, in a small coastal town a few hours away, a young couple had hopes and dreams of starting a family of their own. After years of unsuccessful attempts, they turned to adoption agencies to increase their chances of starting a family. The young couple was turned down twice. Heartbroken and exhausted, they gave up hope of having a child of their own. A neighbor across the street, knowing their heartache, ran over one day in the driveway to give them the name of an adoption agent in town “who had babies.” Grief-stricken, the young wife stated, “I can’t do this anymore.”

A few weeks later, she had a change of heart and decided to contact the adoption agent. Soon, the agent heard of a new baby up for adoption, one who was born early. The agent raised her hand and told her team, “This one is mine.” Not long after this, the young couple was connected with a little baby girl who had entered the world early and was placed in a large hospital in Medford, Oregon.

This is the part of the story that is hard to read, but I believe it was all part of God’s plan. The young woman in the first paragraph had come to the decision, one way or another, that her only way to deal with an unwanted pregnancy was to end it. As a result of an attempted abortion procedure, I was born… alive. It is unknown whether the young woman thought she was early in her pregnancy or if the doctor at the clinic believed so, but either way, I survived.

I was born anywhere from 28 to 30 weeks gestation. I was a viable birth. I am a person, an individual with my own thoughts and feelings. I don’t know what that young woman was told by those around her or what she was told when she entered that clinic, but I do know this—I am so much more than “just a clump of cells.”

On July 9, 1980, I was given to Nancy and Richard, the young couple who had wished and hoped for a child of their own. My parents were nervous, frightened, but overjoyed to bring their precious new baby home. They adopted me soon after this date and became my number one advocates and supporters, and they continue to be some of my biggest fans today. An added blessing to my beginnings is that two years after adopting me, my parents found out that they were pregnant and were going to have another baby—my sister, Katie.

As a result of the abortion procedure, I sustained injury to my brain. My parents noticed something different about me early on, as they saw a mark on my head when they first met me. The doctor on duty at the time said to go home and “watch it” as I grew. My mother, a go-getter, took me to numerous doctors and specialists, asking the hard questions: “What does my daughter have?” and “What are you telling me to ‘watch for’?” Around the age of two, I was diagnosed with cerebral palsy. For me, that means I wear hearing aids and experience weakness, muscle tightness, and balance issues with my legs.

During those early years, I fought hard to walk, run, skip, ride my bike, and learn like my peers. Now, I am happy to say that I am a healthy person who loves her husband and children dearly. I have an amazing family who supports and loves me through both good and bad times. I am blessed to work in a field I love, as an occupational therapist working with children.

I fully believe that God loves and protects His creation. His most prized creation is human life. One thing I love imagining about my beginnings is my Heavenly Father saying, “Not this one… this one is mine.” I don’t know if I’ll ever fully understand why I survived when others didn’t get that opportunity. However, I do believe that every child is a prized creation, and the Lord says, “That one is mine” to each and every one.

As time goes on, my hope and prayer is that my story can help someone else. I hope to one day be able to connect with the young woman and/or man in the beginning of my story to let them know that they have a Heavenly Father who loves them so much and longs for their hearts. I wish for my story to be one of love, forgiveness, and inspiration. From my little beginnings, big blessings have and continue to be given.