Dear Dr. Kirkowitz,
You don’t know me, but my girlfriend was scheduled to have laser removal surgery of a hematoma that’s pressing on her brain several weeks ago. I’m writing to explain why she didn’t.
I’m sure you get tons of letters like this one. Letters asking you to make an exception, to find time in your already slammed schedule for someone’s loved one. I don’t know that my letter will be any different or that it will stand out enough to make you take it seriously. But my hope is that it will. Because Layla—that’s my girlfriend—is the most amazing girl, and she deserves a shot at a long, happy life more than anyone I know.
When we were in high school, Layla taught me about patience. She taught me to overlook the unkindness of others and find value in life beyond the day-to-day hassles that we tend to focus on. I grew up with an abusive father, who, as it turns out, isn’t my father at all. Layla grew up without parents, because hers were shot by a mugger in front of her when she was just a kid. She was injured in the attack and her medical condition is a result of that injury. Most people would hold on to that, use it as an excuse or a place to lay blame for their problems. That’s what I did. Not Layla. She uses it as a way to remind herself to appreciate the fleeting happiness that life has to offer. She sees the good in people—even people like me.
As I write this, I’m in a treatment center. I have a serious problem with anger. Most women would have cut me loose long ago, but Layla has stayed by my side, even when I’ve become the worst version of myself.
During the past few years, Layla’s strength and dedication have taught me about love. I grew up unsure as to what that word meant. My mom said it often, but when I needed her to stand up to my dad for me, she didn’t. So most of my life I questioned whether or not that word had value. If it existed in the truly unconditional form so many people claimed to feel. Until I received an opportunity to live my dream—to play professional soccer in Spain. No one was more surprised than me when the girl I loved showed up at the airport, uprooted her life, and moved to Spain with me. And I learned yet another valuable lesson. A dream is worthless unless the person you love is a part of it.
And this is the part where I make my desperate plea. Layla couldn’t have surgery a few weeks ago when she was scheduled to because she is pregnant. As I write this, she is somewhere around eight weeks along. As much as I’m ashamed to admit it, I didn’t take the news that we were expecting very well. The procedure you perform would have most likely saved her life, and if something happens to her now, then by getting her pregnant, essentially I am killing the one person I love more than life itself. The fact that she is willing to risk her own life to protect the life of our child is typical Layla. She’s kind, selfless, and beautiful inside and out. I wish that you could meet her so you could see for yourself what my words can’t do justice.
Layla is due in May, and it’s my hope that you can arrange to be on standby so that as soon as the baby is born she can have the procedure. I realize that this is a lot to ask, and I know that my chances of getting this request granted are slim. But what were the odds that an Army brat like myself, an undeserving jerk with a temper, would get even a small amount of time with an angel?
I’ve already taken up enough of your time, but I have one last plea for mercy. You see, I have nightmares. In them, I’m taking my child to visit his or her mother in the cemetery. Because all they know of her is a cold marble stone instead of the warm, compassionate woman that she is. I’m not just asking this enormous favor for me. I’m asking for the unborn child that deserves to know what a wonderful mother they have. I’m asking for my girl. I’m asking that you give her a chance to be the kind of mother everyone should be fortunate enough to have.
I’m asking for my family. The one that I may or may not ever get a chance to have. I don’t deserve it. But Layla does. I’m in this treatment facility so that I can be the very best father that I can. So that I can give our child what I never got. A happy home full of love and laughter. And patience. And acceptance. And hope.
You are my only hope right now. You’re literally all I’ve got. Please consider my request. I can’t offer you much except maybe World Cup tickets, but whatever I’ve got, it’s yours.
I’ve included both my and Layla’s contact information below.
Thank you for your time.
Sincerely,
Landen O’Brien