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Was She Worth the Sacrifice?
By Emily Rhodes
Updated: April 22, 2021
Originally Published: March 13, 2016
Having my daughter fundamentally transformed me—right down to my very core. The first time someone posed the question, “But your daughter was worth it, right?” I was still in a haze from the pain medication, lying helpless in my hospital bed, and I was uncertain.
During my second trimester, I went for a brief jog when an excruciating pain in my groin brought me to my knees. My physician, Dr. Stevens, dismissed my concerns with a wave of her hand, saying, “Pelvic discomfort is just a typical part of pregnancy.” What she really meant was to “deal with it.”
As the pain worsened, I transitioned from crutches to a walker and ultimately to a wheelchair. While I was thrilled to welcome my daughter, I mostly just wanted her out of my body. I struggled to stand long enough to shower, and my husband had to assist me with even the simplest tasks. The agony made me yearn for the days when I could simply take an Advil to alleviate my discomfort.
After giving birth, a series of X-rays and an MRI revealed that the sharp pain I had experienced while jogging was not just an injury from exercise; it was a precursor to something more severe. I was diagnosed with transient osteoporosis, a rare condition induced by pregnancy that leaches calcium from the bones. The imaging confirmed multiple stress fractures in my hips and pelvis, likely exacerbated by labor. At just 29 years old, I learned that I had sustained permanent damage to my body.
I had anticipated sacrificing various comforts during pregnancy: uninterrupted sleep, romantic outings with my husband, and those favorite pair of jeans. I even accepted that I would need to pause my running while my daughter grew inside me. “You’ll be back at it soon,” my fellow runners assured me.
However, during a follow-up appointment, Dr. Stevens joked, “The only time you’ll run again is if you’re being chased.” I stumbled out of the office on crutches, her words replaying in my mind as I gazed at the wall in my bedroom, adorned with my marathon and half-marathon bibs.
It took four long months of rehabilitation and physical therapy before I could walk unassisted, carry my daughter, or push her stroller. I watched in envy as my husband effortlessly lifted her, took her for walks, and comforted her when she cried. What kind of mother couldn’t care for her own child?
“Is it possible for me to run just three miles occasionally in the future?” I pleaded with the orthopedic surgeon. “Running will lead to significant arthritis. You’ll likely require a hip replacement sooner than you think,” he replied.
When I confided in a former running companion, she looked at me with pity and said, “She’s worth it, right?” In those early weeks of motherhood, I struggled to respond. I mumbled, “Of course!” though there were moments when I didn’t truly feel that way. I felt trapped in my new identity as a mother and longed for my previous self. I loved my daughter dearly, but I also wished for my unbroken body back, not wanting to sacrifice one for the other.
Though I tried to suppress my feelings, a hint of resentment lingered. At night, I would gently kiss my daughter as I rocked her to sleep in a bassinet beside my bed. Lying on my side, with my fractured hip pressed against the mattress, I fought back tears with each gentle sway, reminded of my brokenness.
I scolded myself whenever these thoughts arose. I had a happy, healthy baby. Why couldn’t my love for her overshadow everything else? I felt an overwhelming guilt for wishing things were different.
As weeks passed, I regained enough strength to walk short distances with my crutches. Determined to escape the confines of my apartment, I enrolled in a local new mothers’ group. Here, I found a space where I could express my feelings without needing to preface every statement with, “I love my child, but…” Each week, amid the coos and giggles of our babies, we supported one another in acknowledging our sacrifices without judgment.
Gradually, my bones grew stronger. I formed new friendships, some through the mothers’ group, where no one asked if my daughter was worth the toll on my body. They inherently understood the answer: yes, a thousand times yes. Yet, they also recognized my scars and what I had endured.
People often say that nothing can truly prepare you for parenthood. Having my daughter shattered parts of me, both physically and emotionally, but I have begun to piece myself back together. I frequently contemplate how I will eventually share my birth story with her. Will she inquire about why I no longer run? How will I convey to her the complexities of my experience without instilling guilt?
If she ever chooses to become a mother, I hope her body is kinder to her. Regardless of her pregnancy experience, I want her to understand that motherhood alters you in unforeseen ways. There will be sacrifices, yet on the other side, a stronger version of herself will emerge—one who is not naïve but prepared to embrace the challenges of parenting while acknowledging that, ultimately, those sacrifices are profoundly worthwhile.
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Summary
The journey of motherhood can bring about profound physical and emotional changes. While sacrifices are often necessary, the experience of raising a child can lead to a stronger, more resilient self. Navigating these changes involves acknowledging the difficulties while celebrating the joys of parenthood.