Day 336: My parents

I could spend years discussing my parents. They are so much a part of who I am. But today I was writing an example of creative writing for my students. They are working on stories about events that had they happened differently, would have prevented them from being here. My students are struggling with showing a story using creative language and sensory images rather than telling me what happened. They are writing things like this:

The day I was born was the day I might not be here if it happened differently. It was my due date and my mom went into labor early in the morning. She didn’t rush to get to the hospital because she didn’t think it was so bad. When I was born I was very small and sick. The doctor didn’t know what to do, so they decided to let me die.  My parents were very sad.  Finally they decided to try to save me. An ambulance took me to a hospital downtown Chicago. I had a surgery to close my stomach and was fine. 

Obviously this is an interesting story, but isn't told in such a way to to inspire curiosity. I am giving that to my students to look at tomorrow - and then giving them the one using figurative language. 

The first day of my life was almost my last.
    Penny rubbed her back. She wasn’t sure if this was labor or not until her water broke.
    “Bill, it’s time,” she said more calmly than she felt.
    Bill’s eyes grew wide as he flew into action. He grabbed the car keys and a small suitcase Penny had packed two weeks ago in anticipation of this moment. Holding Penny’s elbow, he guided her carefully down the steps and into the wood paneled station wagon. The day they had been waiting so long for was finally here. The birth of their first baby was imminent. Bill wondered if he would have a son or daughter by the end of the day. Little did he know that it might be neither.
    Later, in the delivery room, the doctor stood poised to deliver the baby who seemed to come too quickly and easily.  He looked down expectantly, but what he saw defied any of his expectations.
    “Doc, what is it?” Bill asked, holding Penny’s hand. She was groggy from the sedatives they used to ease the pain of labor. The doctor didn’t answer. He and a cluster of nurses whisked the baby away without saying a word.
    The doctor carefully cut away the umbilical cord so the tiny girl could breathe, but that was the least of her problems. The skin covering her abdomen had not developed. She wouldn’t make it. Sighing, he gave the worried father the news that his little daughter wouldn’t survive the day.
    Bill hovered over the bassinet, watching the tiny chest struggle to rise and fall. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he waited for the inevitable, but it never came. She just kept fighting to breathe.
    “Doc, she is hanging in here. Isn’t there something we can do?” Bill pleaded.
    Finally the doctor decided that if this itty bit of a little girl could fight so hard for her life, she deserved any effort they could make. He picked up the phone and called Children’s Memorial Hospital in Chicago and arranged for an ambulance. Within minutes he had set the right people in motion to save my life.

While I have taken some liberties with the details and shortened the account considerably, this is the story of my first day on earth. As I wrote this example for my students, I was able to put myself in their shoes for the first time. When I spent eight days watching my comparatively healthy daughter in the NICU, my heart was in my throat repeatedly. Every little positive sign gave me immeasurable joy, but every new concern or test was terrifying. I watched when they performed a head sonogram, knowing they were looking for whitening around the ventricles in her brain that would signify the birth mother had abused drugs during the pregnancy, but not knowing what her brain was supposed to look like. Every time they stopped to freeze an image, my breath felt wet and heavy. I was almost in tears by the time it was over without having any idea if anything was wrong (all good btw). 

I can't imagine seeing this little tiny person I love so much struggling to survive. The love and fear they must have felt overwhelmed me. I found myself near tears in empathy for the twenty somethings (more than ten years younger than I am now) watching their baby girl nearly die and face a critical surgery and a month in the 70s equivalent of a NICU. They were all alone. I don't think either of my grandmothers were there. My mom was left an hour away while my dad rode with me and waited for the outcome. 

Then my mom could only visit every few days when my dad could take the time to drive her into the city. When Lil Bit was across the street from my hotel, I was standing at the NICU door every three hours and nearly hysterical if I couldn't get in to see her. Penny left the hospital without her new daughter and still unsure if she would live.

I have thought about that day before and thanked God for all the pieces that fell into place in order for my life to be saved. I have understood before that my parents were worried and scared, but my perspective has changed. As a mother today, my heart understood those fears. I also am able to appreciate more the choices they made for me and the childhood they gave me. It is too bad we always appreciate the really important things in retrospect. Thank you, Mom and Dad. I love you, too! and am starting to finally understand you were just kids trying to make it through each day too. I miss you both. Wish we lived closer.