I chose life.

I chose life when my husband and I planned to have a baby.

I chose life when we celebrated the two little lines on the pregnancy test.

I chose life when I started to eat healthier, took my prenatal vitamins every day, and eagerly attended every appointment with my midwife.

I chose life at my 20 week ultrasound, when the doctor referred me to a maternal fetal specialist.

I chose life when the maternal fetal specialist said something was not quite right with my baby’s heart.

I chose life when we met with the genetics counselor, who used words like “abnormal” and “atypical” and “syndrome” and “termination.”

I chose life when I was labeled “high-risk” and scheduled for weekly monitoring.

I chose life when I had a million conversations with my doctors and midwives and prepared for every possible scenario.

I chose life when I was induced at 39 weeks because my baby stopped growing and her movements slowed down.

I chose life with each contraction in labor — gentle mild ones over three hours, crazy intense ones over twenty minutes — and when I brought her into this world with three quick pushes.

I chose life when I held her in my arms and kissed her moments after she was born.

I chose life when the neonatologist examined her at bedside and then rushed her to the NICU.

I chose life the next morning when the cardiologist recommended we transfer her to the cardiac ICU at the local children’s hospital.

I chose life when I sent her on her way, armed with the name Xiomara, which means “ready for battle.”

I chose life when we did Kangaroo care every chance we got in that hospital room full of life-saving machines.

I chose life when I handed her over to the surgeon who would perform her heart surgery when she was 11 days old.

I chose life when I pumped breastmilk for her round the clock for months on end.

I chose life when I attended rounds with the doctors every single day and obsessively Googled every new medical condition discussed.

I chose life when I walked her down to the OR to get her tracheostomy and feeding tube placed after she was unable to breathe and eat on her own after nearly three months.

I chose life when I did my trach care training and learned how to care for her medically.

I chose life when my husband and I took turns sleeping at her bedside in an uncomfortable hospital chair for 169 nights straight.

I chose life when we finally brought her home for the first time on a cold December day.

I chose life with every scary 911 call and terrifying ambulance ride that followed.

I chose life when I gave her manual breaths with the AmbuBag every time she turned blue and stopped breathing.

I chose life with every suctioning of the trach, every tube feeding, and every nebulizer treatment.

I chose life every time I forced myself to get back up after breaking down.

I chose life when I fired every therapist, home nurse, and doctor who didn’t have her best interest at heart.

I chose life when I powered through after days without a shower or sufficient sleep.

I chose life when I researched every therapy, medication, program, doctor, and procedure that could possibly help her in any way.

I chose life when I fought with our health insurance to cover the care she needed.

I chose life when I applied for Medicaid on her behalf to prevent our family from financial ruin.

I chose life when I gathered documents and applied for grants to pay for “non-covered benefits.”

I chose life when I helped her with her physical therapy exercises all day long, every single day, so she could finally hold her head up on her own at 8 months old.

I chose life as we learned sign language together so we could communicate.

I chose life with every new therapy toy or medical equipment acquired.

I chose life when we turned occupational therapy exercises into fun games every day.

I chose life when my husband and I attended one doctor appointment after another…after another after another.

I chose life when we loaded up the car and drove 9 hours to Cincinnati Children’s Hospital because they have the best Aerodigestive program in the country.

I chose life every three months when we drove to CHOP in Philadelphia because her pulmonologist there specializes in kids on home mechanical ventilation.

I chose life when my husband and I did her trach care every night and trach change every week to help prevent infection.

I chose life when I lugged her ventilator, oxygen tank, pulse oximeter, feeding pump, suction bag, and emergency bag everywhere we went.

I chose life when we enrolled her in a pre-k special education school program so she could socialize with her peers.

I chose life when we went to story time at the library and waved to the animals at the zoo and and played on the swings at the playground and splashed around in the kiddie pool and cheered loudly at baseball games and watched Sesame Street together.

I chose life when I fought for every chance for her to just. be. a. kid.

I chose life when I met my U.S. Senator and looked him in the eye as I told him why he needed to fight tooth and nail for my daughter.

I chose life when my friends and I walked the halls of the Senate office buildings all summer on behalf of medically complex children across the country in desperate need of access to affordable quality healthcare.

I chose life every single time, every single day. I am still choosing life for my daughter.

The Republican tax plan does not choose life.

It chooses to repeal part of the ACA, which will lead to 13 million fewer Americans with health insurance. Americans that include children with medically complex needs like mine.

It chooses to raise insurance premiums on the millions of American families who do not have the “freedom” to go without health insurance because of the medical conditions in their family.

It chooses to create over a trillion dollars in debt — debt that our children will have to pay off — so that corporations and wealthy individuals can have more money.

It chooses to create that deficit with the idea that they will make up for it down the road with hundreds of billions of dollars in cuts to Medicaid, the program that keeps our children alive and thriving.

In short, it chooses to threaten the quality of life of the most vulnerable amongst us, including our children.

If you support this bill, you don’t get to call yourself pro-life.  If you support this bill, you are not choosing life.

I chose life.  If you also choose life, join me in this fight.

~ Elena