The Journal-Sentinal, Milwaukee, Wisconsin

Stranger's words gave mother-to-be strength

By BRENDA KEY

Last Updated: March 2, 2003

More than 18 years ago, I began taking some medication called Accutane for a serious skin problem. Five months later, my husband, Sherman, and I learned I was pregnant.

Immediately, the doctor who prescribed the medicine and the manufacturer of the drug wrote, called and pleaded with me to abort the baby, because Accutane was known to cause severe deformation in a fetus. The manufacturers even sent us pictures of babies born to mothers taking Accutane.

After struggling and agonizing, my husband and I decided the doctors were right, so I scheduled an appointment to have an abortion.

The day I went to the clinic in downtown Milwaukee, I remember feeling angry, yet sad, bewildered, unsure, guilty. But I believed my doctors and the manufacturer of the medicine were correct. Surely they could not be wrong . . . The medication can cause severe deformity. At the time it made sense in my mind, but my heart was far from it.

Before I could open the front door of the building where the clinic was, a hand touched my shoulder and a woman's voice simply said, "God loves that baby. Don't do it."

How she knew where I was going in that tall building, I still don't know. Maybe my frightened look and my small paper bag with slippers and house robe in it were dead giveaways. Whatever it was, I'm glad she stopped me.

She said again, "Don't do it. God loves that baby."

I was in total shock, afraid someone I knew had seen me. Slowly I turned around to see a young white female I had never seen in my life, a total stranger saying to me again, "Don't do it. God loves that baby."

Her name was Monica Migliorino. I repeatedly explained to Monica what my doctors had said. I explained to her what the manufacturer of the medicine had sent me and told me. Monica continued to say, "God loves that baby . . . No matter what physical condition that baby may be in, you can make it."

She must have heard the panic in my voice. She began to plead more strongly, "Please, don't do it." I told Monica again what the doctors had said. Surely they could not be wrong; they were the experts.

I went inside the building and took the elevator up to the clinic. But before I could open the office door, fear gripped my soul. I ran down three flights of steps looking for a telephone. Finding one, I called Mother Artie LaValley, now deceased, my state supervisor of the Northwest District of the Church of God in Christ. She was on the phone. I put in an emergency interrupt and she accepted it. I realize now that I was one little member of the Northwest District, which has thousands of members, yet Mother LaValley accepted my emergency call.

I explained to Mother LaValley the situation from start to finish. I remember so clearly exactly what she had said. At first she said, "Brenda, I can't tell you what to do, but I can tell you what the testimony of the Lord has done for me."

After we talked for a half-hour, she proclaimed in a powerful tone, "Brenda, don't do it, the Lord loves that little baby. Everything will be all right."

I picked up my paper bag and left the building. On that cold November morning, Monica was still standing outside. She came over to me. Without my saying a word, she knew I had not had the abortion. Tears began to fall down her cheeks, as well as mine. This stranger, this white woman I didn't know, was hugging me and praising God as if she was my best friend.

And so it was on the warm afternoon of June 11, 1984, that our daughter, Shonda Yvette-Rosie Key, was born at St. Joseph's Hospital.

All her toes and fingers, eyes and nose were in the right places. Completely whole, a beautiful baby girl. And now, 18 years later, my heart is flooded with gratitude and appreciation to Monica and Mother LaValley for literally saving our child's life.

Monica made me a promise that day outside the clinic building: "I'll stick by you, through it all." And this she did. For 12 years she was there, helping where she could. Every year, Monica would give Shonda a birthday gift. The last gift she gave to Shonda was a large picture of a brown Jesus. We later moved to Tulsa and lost contact with Monica.

Shonda graduated from Marshall High School and is attending Concordia University in Mequon. Maybe someday Shonda will get married and have a child of her own. I don't know what the future holds for Shonda. We're just so happy that she at least has a future to look forward to. Had it not been for God who was on our side, had it not been for Monica standing on that corner, had it not been for Mother LaValley accepting my emergency call, our baby, a real living beautiful young lady, would be just another statistic.