My daughter is a year and a half old and has been with her foster parents since she was about 6 months. I almost left this earth when I had her. My lungs started filling with fluid 16 hours into labor and I was rushed into an OR for an emergency C-section. They assumed something had just gone wrong with the amount of things I was hooked up to and the epidural. I woke up intubated in the ICU with no information as to why things went south in the delivery room. I met her for the first time while intubated. I held her and felt absolutely nothing. When they removed the tube and I was able to go back to my room, I felt so detached from reality. I didn't believe that she was my daughter. I couldn't believe that I was a parent. I was a complete robot caring for her, feeling like I couldn't breathe, being woken up in the middle of the night with needles and check-ins. They monitored both of our progress for two days, then because my partner was annoyed with staying in the hospital so long, we were released and sent home. I didn't feel ready, but we were on the verge of fighting in the hospital and I didn't want to be doing that, so I went home with him anyway.

The 3 days I was home were awful. I spent a lot of my time struggling to breathe, dealing with the pain of my C-section, and getting minimal help from my partner. He was constantly picking fights with me about any and everything he could think of. I couldn't sleep laying down, so I spent my nights restless, sitting up in a recliner, unable to get any substantial sleep. I took my daughter in for her first check-up, then stopped in to let my OBGYN team meet the precious girl I brought into this world. As soon as they saw me, they kept asking if I was okay. After a few answers of just being tired, my original nurse took one look at me and told me I needed to go back to the hospital. Apparently I was extremely pale and looked like death. So, when we were done visiting, I took my daughter and partner home, and drove myself to the ER in town. They sat me in a room, took an x-ray of my chest, and within 20 minutes, I had 4 nurses and a doctor in my room. They told me my lungs were filling with fluid again and I needed to be transported back to the hospital where I had my daughter.

About an hour later, I arrive by ambulance to the original hospital, where I meet the most amazing nurse I have ever had the chance to be assigned to. She hooked me up to a few different monitors and explained all of the tests they were going to need to do. I was distraught the whole time, having no idea what the hell was going on or if I was ever going home again. The hospital staff were extremely patient with me and my nurse even sat with me and listened to me cry about the situation and offered some advice.

After a few tests and a lot of lost sleep, I had a cardiothoracic surgeon enter my room and ask me if I had dealt with any illnesses as a kid. I told him I had scarlet fever twice and his eyes widened. He looked at me, this 26 year old who'd barely even begun to live, and told me I needed heart surgery. It felt like a scene in a movie where all sound gets muted and there's a loud ringing in your ears. Heart surgery. I needed heart surgery and I'm 1,000 miles away from my entire family. Apparently my mitral valve wasn't working properly, so my lungs were filling with fluid due to the lack of proper circulation.

I spent a week in the hospital undergoing test after test, wondering when the heart surgery was going to be and if I was even going to make it through. I was put on about 12 different medications just to get my heart working the way it needed to in order to keep me alive. I couldn't walk the few steps to my bathroom without getting winded, so they advised me not to leave. About 4 days in, I got a call from my partner. He was losing his mind because he wasn't able to sleep, so I told him to call my OB nurse to see if she had any ideas. He refused to call her, so I told him to let her cry, go to the bathroom, and take a minute. I then called my OB nurse and explained the situation, asking her if she knew what to do, and she actually offered to go and get her for a bit to give my partner some time to rest. After that, the pressure to come home from my partner started. I was literally sitting in the hospital fighting for my life, and all he wanted me to do was leave the only place I was actually safe. It took 3 days, but he broke me down, and I all but forced the staff's hand to let me go.

My partner apologized when I got home, saying he was sorry that he treated me so badly after I came home, that he didn't realize what I was going through. That's the only apology I got before things went back to the exact way they were before. He was constantly berating me for never having anything done when he got home from work, always bit my head off when I asked for help with the baby, and basically just came home and did whatever he wanted while I suffered in silence. Multiple times, he'd get angry with me that I hadn't gone back to work. Not a day went by where I didn't contemplate ending everything. In the midst of a pretty bad argument, I locked myself in the bathroom and emptied out every pill bottle I had, ready to let go and give up the fight for my own life. I was tired of suffering and tired of being made out to be a monster while feeling like I was slowly deteriorating. But I couldn't leave my daughter with him.

The next few months were a blur. I ended things with my partner, but we decided to co-parent because I didn't have any other choice. Having no family out here, I didn't have many options for separating myself and my daughter from him. I was constantly tired from my heart problem and being a full-time parent with minimal help, and the only breaks I got were when my OB nurse would come and take my daughter for the night or for a weekend. I can't imagine how much harder everything would have been if I hadn't had her in my life.

Due to my daughter being born, we exceeded the body limit for a one-bedroom apartment, so we had to move into a two-bedroom. Because of how stressful it was, my ex and I spent the entire time fighting. Him being the aggressor and me biting back because I was in pain and he didn't seem to care. Shortly after the move, I started struggling even more with my ex because he was getting meaner. The fights were escalating and he was still harassing me about a job when I couldn't even walk up the stairs without needing to take ten minutes to catch my breath. My body was in a permanent fight or flight mode and every little thing was setting me off. I was afraid I was going to hurt myself. I was afraid I was going to hurt my daughter...

I had started therapy about a month and a half after she was born. My next therapy session, I voiced my concerns with the terrifying harmful thoughts I was having and we discussed a possible foster situation. She suggested I go talk to DCS and see what options I'd have, with the most likely scenario of me getting her back after my surgery once I was back on my feet. We had set a plan for me to take my daughter with me and have her placed with a family, where I'd be able to visit her daily and get her back when I was ready.

I talked to my OB nurse about it and she immediately said don't do it. She offered to take my daughter and her and her friend (who also worked in the same OB office) would share responsibility until I was in a better place. We discussed it and I agreed to the terms she laid out. Shortly after she took her, she also asked me if I'd be willing to make it a legal foster situation, that way there were no loose ends with the legal system and she'd be able to take her to doctor's appointments and everything without question. I agreed.

A few weeks later, I get a message asking if I could come over and talk to her. She said her sister-in-law and her wife were wanting to foster and asked if I'd be okay with that. Obviously, I asked to meet them first so I could get a feel for who they were and whether I'd be comfortable with them caring for my daughter. They were wonderful and I didn't see a problem with them fostering her. We set up regular visitation and I got to watch my daughter grow. But I also got to watch her bond with someone else and it killed me.

Throughout all of this, nothing changed with my ex. Things actually got worse because he felt like I sent her away to hurt him. He constantly used that against me and made me pay for it every waking moment of every day.

In September of last year, I had my heart surgery. I made a fantastic recovery and a few months later, I moved into my own apartment. I was experiencing a life I've never gotten to experience before. I felt better than I ever have and was able to hold a job, which is something I've never been able to do due to some sort of health issue (now I know it was my heart failing). I was still regularly visiting my daughter and things were looking up. That's when I started considering allowing my daughter's foster parents to adopt her.

Regardless of being able to care for myself (barely) and living on my own, I can barely afford the bare minimum for myself. I'm living paycheck to paycheck while my daughter is being spoiled with things she doesn't need by a young married couple who are better off than my own parents. She has the absolute best life I could have imagined for her, so why do I feel disgusting letting her go? I have so much trauma that I am still working through. I know that her living with me wouldn't be good for her. But my heart is breaking just typing this. I know I'm giving her her best chance by allowing them to adopt her, but everything inside me is screaming. I feel like I failed. I wanted to be there for her, but I can barley be there for myself. And it kills me. Every. Single. Day.