HOPs 8: Dr. Lora Garcia-Tansengco

​The Joy of Motherhood

How ironic that a woman who chose to be an obstetrician-gynecologist by profession would find herself in despair over the possibility of never having a child. At the end of my chief residency, I found myself caring for many mothers-to-be, mother wannabes, women who were already grandmothers, and even women who refuse to be mothers, as I consistently and painstakingly attempt to navigate myself on a path towards motherhood. It was a harrowing ordeal to grapple with the tragedy of a problematic conception and three miscarriages. Finally, when I became pregnant once again, I desperately worked myself up, which led to a diagnosis of reproductive immune disorder. This disease entity was then entirely new, with treatments considered novel and investigational, and therefore, uncertain. My abdomen became pocked with bruises from the daily, sometimes even twice daily, heparin injections. I paid no mind to the gut-wrenching hyperemesis, armed with the knowledge that this only means that I have high levels of hormones to keep my baby safe. We had to close our eyes to the high cost of leucocyte immune treatment, not to mention the tears I shed because the multiple needle pricks underneath my forearm skin were just downright painful. But I also woke up every day with the enduring fear that I may lose her anytime. That tenuous link between life and death inside my womb kept me up on my feet the entire duration of my pregnancy as I carry my precious baby girl.

"How ironic that a woman who chose to be an obstetrician-gynecologist by profession would find herself in despair over the possibility of never having a child."

 "That tenuous link between life and death inside my womb kept me up on my feet the entire duration of my pregnancy as I carry my precious baby girl."

"The life of a tiny human being, my daughter, my Annika, has just sprung from within me. I am now a mother."

I was ill-prepared for an emergency premature birth due to another surprise complication on the 35th week of pregnancy. As the surgical team laid the sterile green drapes over my body, the usual mundane beeping sounds I hear as a surgeon now had an entirely different meaning. My heartbeat was racing so fast I had to close my eyes to focus on directing my headspace toward calming down. The feeling of ambivalence was so overwhelming. I was frightened but at the same time excited. My body was numb while my emotions were on overdrive. So sensitive was I that I felt I couldn't breathe when it took an interminably long time before my baby finally let out a tiny cry. I heaved a sigh of relief as I lay motionless on the OR table, my vision blurred by a steady stream of tears as I watched a miracle unfold right before me. The life of a tiny human being, my daughter, my Annika, has just sprung from within me. I am now a mother.

It has now been twenty-two years since that memorable, life-changing night in August. Time seems to have come and gone in almost an instant. I cannot even see where it went. I blinked after I nourished her from my bosom, the seat of my most intimate feelings, and opened my eyes today to magically see her blossom into a fine young lady. But just as time has remained invisible, so is the love I have for my daughter. You cannot even count and measure the things I have given up for her, the purest love I can offer. Prestige, awards, recognition, wealth, or material possession; none of these can replace the joy of being a mother.