Rebecca Balfe is a former editor for Love What Matters. She resides in NYC, owning and rescuing adorable cats. She is an avid Lupus fighter and advocate.

Rebecca Balfe is a former editor for Love What Matters. She resides in NYC, owning and rescuing adorable cats. She is an avid Lupus fighter and advocate.
“I was sobbing in bed one night angry at God. ‘Why won’t you take the pain away?!’ I had worked so hard despite being unwell, pushing myself to achieve. I got the grades to study music, my true passion, but was too unwell to go! I was gutted. The emergency doctor uttered the word ‘stroke.’ I was in disbelief. I was only 19 years old.”
“‘Everything will change when you have your own kids together.’ The comments stung. He had a vasectomy in his first marriage. I felt robbed. He had the young love. He married young. As we enter our 3rd year of infertility, will his first wife will be the only woman who will share this part of him? The part I always wished for? I made it ‘my fault’ we couldn’t get pregnant. I lied, covered up the truth.”
“‘Natalie. He died.’ I can still remember it like yesterday. Being woken up in my freshman year dorm from a call. All I remember next is screaming, ‘No, no, no, no, no!’ Dead. Died. Gone. As time went on, I started feeling sick. Very sick.”
“I was losing clumps of hair. I assumed it was stress because we just moved for my husband’s job. My doctor asked about my children. She was the first doctor who actually had a conversation with me. Then she dropped a bomb. ‘I’m prescribing you an anti depressant.’ I left the appointment bawling. ‘Who does she think she is!? She didn’t know everything I’ve been through!'”
“I traded a life of steady income and comfort for a life on the streets in order to support my addiction. I slept in homeless camps, under bridges, along railroad tracks, and in strangers’ houses. My sign, ‘Support my whiskey right for a frisky night,’ made more money than any other sign asking for help. I was living on the street, so no one cared. It came with the territory.”
“This couldn’t be happening to me. I couldn’t breathe, and to top it off my husband was out of town on business. I tried calling him and he didn’t answer. ‘This can’t be how my story ends.’”
“I kissed her on the forehead and whispered, ‘I will always love you.’ I wondered if I would ever see her again. While I reveled in my three biological sons and one adoptive son, my thoughts often wondered back to her. I couldn’t take care of her at birth, but now I could.”
“I remember multiple vivid dreams of violent rape. As I woke, my ‘dreams’ transitioned to reality. The sorrow I felt was indescribable. I was devastated I’d missed those precious moments after birth. I wept, begged the doctors, ‘Please downgrade me out of the ICU so I can meet my baby!’ FINALLY, after 24 days in the hospital, I met my precious son. I smelled his skin. I’d almost died, and was now reunited with him.”
“The sonographer went very quiet and kept putting her body in strange positions. She said the baby was laying awkwardly. We had to sign papers prior to his surgery warning us of the risks… death being one of them. We were so helpless. He was so tiny. It didn’t seem fair. I was so excited to see my little boy and give him a big kiss.”
“I was scared boys wouldn’t want to date me because of my arm, and I was scared of going in public because I did not want strangers to ask questions. I remember one time a kid got angry with me and said, ‘You one-armed freak!’ It hurt. People would say, ‘You are so brave! You are so inspiring!’ It was annoying! I wasn’t doing anything different than the other children.”
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