Lisa and I met at a conference where I heard her speak.  She’s informative and passionate. I sensed she had a story to share and invited her to write Raw. On Lisa’s Facebook page she describes herself as “I am thankful.” It began with this story.

Lisa Sparks

My birth was not planned. No ovulation calendars were used, nothing was intentional. I was so unexpected the doctor told my mother she couldn’t possibly be pregnant. She must be changing life. She was, after all, 39 years old.

He gave her pills, pills that would help with this new phase in her life. He said they’d make going through The Change easier. She balked. He insisted. She left and proceeded to take the pills. The morning sickness didn’t stop. The lightheadedness continued. She just knew.

She went back to the doctor, insisted she was pregnant. The harried doctor relented just to shut her up and did the rabbit test. She killed the rabbit. The doctor wanted to kill me. He said, “OK Mrs. Sparks you are pregnant. We’ve given you these pills for the change in life and it may interfere with the pregnancy. We’ll give you another pill to abort the pregnancy and you should be back to normal in a few days.”

This was 1974. Roe v. Wade had just passed. Countless women went through the same scenario in doctors’ offices across the country. I was almost dead before I was born. My mother said she’d think about it. Said she had to talk to her husband about it. And left the office heavy with the weight of a life. She talked to my dad. He left it up to her. She talked to her friends. They came up empty. What if the child was born deformed. “You don’t know what was in them pills, Lorraine,” they said.

She decided.

Her doctor refused the handle the pregnancy. He said the baby could be born with deformities, brain damage and a litany of other ills medical science had yet to discover. He couldn’t, in good conscience, continue with her as a patient if she insisted on going forward with the pregnancy.

She went looking for another doctor. A quick look at her chart and no one would take her. Too risky, they said. Just terminate replied another. Time was getting short. She had to find someone and fast. Mom was a seamstress and she sewed for a nurse. The nurse found a doctor who would take her on; on one condition. She had to do everything he told her to do, absolutely everything. And she did.

Daddy and Me

Paying for it was the issue. My dad had just started his own business, a painting business. So the family wasn’t flush with cash when I came along. He was just starting up. To pay for mom’s medical bills dad painted the doctor’s office and did other things to get the money together.

The months passed. Winter melted. Spring bloomed. Summer burned. And I came. Early. My father rushed mom to Women’s Medical Hospital on Henry Avenue between East Falls and North Philly. When I was born I didn’t cry. I didn’t make a sound. The umbilical cord was wrapped around my neck. Death still wanted to grab me before I even had a chance to take my first breath.

The doctors rushed me from the delivery room to the NICU to try to save my life. Eventually they got me breathing but I had to stay in the hospital for two weeks after birth – that was a two week stay my parents hadn’t budgeted for. And for the first time someone from my father’s family was on government assistance. It was the only way to finish paying the medical bills. My father was crushed. He got a second job at Sears and we were off assistance as soon as he was able.

Life went on. I grew and learned of this story. When I heard it I was filled with anger at the doctors, at the nurses, at my father for not insisting on saving me instead of leaving it up to my mom. It stayed with me for decades. It drove me to be successful, to make an impact, to get out of our low-income / working class neighborhood. I say ‘low income’ instead of ghetto because there is a distinct difference, one that only those who grew up in such circumstances can detect, but it is definitely there. For you, dear reader, who did not grow up in such a place, it is very dangerous to say you are from one when indeed you are from another.

Smiling Lisa

Here I am, living three blocks from the Atlantic coastline in an exclusive high-rise condo with security guards and a five story waterfall. And I’ve had to step back, reevaluate and forgive. The fact of the matter is no matter how I got here, no matter who didn’t want me here, no matter where I was born – I. Am. Here. And I’m making the most of it.

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Lisa D. Sparks
754-273-5472
lisa@lisadsparks.com

www.lisadsparks.net