Eleanor, think a hundred times before you sign away a child, the midwife warned, or it will be too late.
I cant abandon him, you must understand, I whispered, tears already blurring my vision.
All the nurses at St.Georges Maternity Ward hovered around the young mothertobe, sensing how heavy the decision weighed on her. It was clear she needed some reassurance, some way to convince herself otherwise.
My father raised me with iron discipline, I explained, voice trembling. Since I was a girl hes warned me never to bring a child into the gutter. How could I tell him this has happened? He still thinks Im still a student, still training for a profession. Ive been at home for six months because of my pregnancy, and Ive lied about it.
Life throws many hardships at us, the doctor said mildly. He may shout, may scold, but in the end hell accept your boy as his grandsonyour line will continue.
No, you dont understand my father, I retorted, he is a stern man. If Mother were still alive she would have known my heart. And with that, I broke down, sobbing bitterly.
The babys father, a young clerk named George Whitaker, declared at once that he was washing his hands of the matterno child for him. I clung to the hope that his feelings were genuine, which only made the pain sharper. I refused the abortion; the child was born healthy and rosycheeked.
My mother died when I was in Year6. I was on a work trip with colleagues when our car collided on the M1. Everyone survived the crash except me. From that day forward my life split into before and after. My father, freed from the shackles of his former self, poured all his bitterness and sense of injustice onto his daughter.
Eleanor, if you bring a gutter child into this house Ill throw you out, he warned, our family will not endure that shame. Study hard, become a doctor, be a respectable lady.
Father, theres no such thing as a gutter child, I pleaded, Im still young, Im doing well at school, please dont shout at me.
I graduated with a gold medal, entered medical school just as Mother and Father had wanted. I returned home a few times each year; Father would cook his beloved roast potatoes and pepper in questions about my studies, always reminding me of the gutter he so feared.
What he feared came true. In my second year I met a young man at a college dance. I fell for him without noticing; he was my first love. I imagined us walking down the aisle, Father beaming with pride at his clever, beautiful daughtermy future bride. But the dream shattered when he left me, his promises drifting away like a puff of smoke.
The labour was easy, but the thought of looking at my baby filled me with dread. I told myself I would write a refusal form. When I saw that tiny, wrinkled face, my heart faltered. Nine months I had carried him beneath my ribs; now I contemplated giving him away.
Three mothers with their infants occupied the ward. I turned my back to the wall, refusing to watch them feed their babies. I never managed to nurse my own, despite the nurses gentle coaxing, hoping I might change my mind.
The refusal was signed. No pleading softened my fathers resolve. I hastily packed my belongings and slipped out of St.Georges, clutching the papers that sealed my son’s fate. The midwives and nurses watched the little boyAndrew, as they called him with sorrowful eyes.
Little one, youre left alone now; your mother has gone. Only God knows what will become of you. Most likely you’ll be taken in by a good family; such children are quickly placed.
Andrew fell silent, his tiny nose twitching as if listening to an unseen lullaby. Nurse Nadine Thompson, who remembered almost every child turned away, sang softly and fed the forsaken infant. She had seen mothers return, though rarely.
That night, as if sensing his abandonment, Andrew wailed mournfully, refusing the bottle. Nadine stayed awake, soothing him; he briefly fell asleep, ate a reluctant sip of formula, then cried again with renewed vigor until dawn softened his sobs and left him listless.
Ah, child, you call for your mother, but she is gone, unwilling to keep you.
During the morning rounds I burst into the ward.
Where is he? Has he not been handed over yet? I want him back!
Eleanor, youve returned! Thank heavens! Andrew is still with us; the paperwork hasnt been transferred. Are you certain of your choice? This isnt a toy.
I am sure! He is my son; how could I have abandoned him?
Tears streamed down my cheeks.
I havent slept a wink all night, hearing his cries in my mind, my heart nearly torn apart. My little boy, alone without a mother Let me feed him; my milk is ready.
They moved me to a private room and placed the baby in my arms. He began to suckle loudly. The staff gathered at the doorway, their faces bright with relief. No longer would the child be left to fate; he would stay with his mother.
I confessed to my father later, admitting I had given birth and then set the child aside because of his harsh words. I told him I could not live without my child and now wanted him back. He was shocked at first, then asked to see his grandson, calling me a fool, not a mother, berating me for keeping secrets.
All my life Id heard the warning: May you never bring a child into the gutter. Yet when I finally faced my father, his eyes softened, tears spilling over as he finally embraced the boy. Well give him a proper name and a good surname, he said.
The whole ward watched as a fragile mother cradled her infant, and I whispered a prayer for their happiness.
How often do parents frighten daughters from childhood with the threat, If you bring a gutter child home, youll be cast out!? How many young women have aborted or relinquished newborns because of those words, how many lives have been scarred? Moral lessons matter, but girls must also hear that their families love them and will accept themwhether married, pregnant, or bearing a child in the gutter.
May all be loved and find peace.
