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Seven Days to a Miracle
A Story of Adoption
By Stefanie O'Neill
August 11, 2002
I am reading a trashy romance novel and wondering why my husband chose to stay in St. Louis with his family for another day. I know he was too tired to drive the five and a half hours back home, but I hate being alone in the house, and our dog isn't helping by barking hysterically at every little noise.
The phone rings, and the caller ID reads "Out of Area." This normally means it's a telemarketer – but at 11:30 at night?
A very soft voice says, "Stefanie?"
I say, "Yes."
The voice says, "It is Dave*."
My heart starts pounding 1,000 miles an hour. "She had the baby," he says. I don't say anything; I try but I can't.
"I guess that you are a mom," he says. I manage an, "Oh my God!"
I ask how Mary* is and tell him that he sounds tired. He admits that it has been a strange experience. I tell him he has been brave. (Why did I say that?) He snorts. Then he says, "Don't you want to know? It is a boy. He was born at 11:07."
"Tonight?" I ask.
"Yes," he says. "He's either 7 pounds, 6 ounces or 7 pounds, 4 ounces." He apologizes because he can't remember.
I realize now that I am crying. I try to not cry on the phone with Dave. I do not want him to be uncomfortable. "Will you call us again?" I blurt out. "Just tell us how she is doing, how he is doing. You can call collect, anything."