{"id":379643,"date":"2012-10-05T15:26:00","date_gmt":"2012-10-05T15:26:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/staging.annahelizabeth.com\/index.php\/2012\/10\/05\/every-day-a-new-story-begins-part-ii-senseless-and-a-digging-for-the-light-excerpt\/"},"modified":"2012-10-05T15:26:00","modified_gmt":"2012-10-05T15:26:00","slug":"every-day-a-new-story-begins-part-ii-senseless-and-a-digging-for-the-light-excerpt","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/staging.annahelizabeth.com\/index.php\/2012\/10\/05\/every-day-a-new-story-begins-part-ii-senseless-and-a-digging-for-the-light-excerpt\/","title":{"rendered":"Every Day a New Story Begins, Part II: Senseless and a Digging for the Light Excerpt"},"content":{"rendered":"
<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s senseless,\u201d she said, before they parted ways.<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Two women were talking about the unexpected death of a mutual friend.<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

She was sixty-three years old.<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

A mother. Grandmother. Wife. Friend.<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Vibrant and working one day.<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Gone the next.<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Poof!<\/span><\/i><\/span><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

A new story begins<\/span><\/a>.<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

One where the person\u2019s stories will now be spun by those who love her.<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Those who are left behind.<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

The tales will be interspersed with tears of sadness.<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

And with tears of joy.<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

You don\u2019t know them, but on some emotional level you can relate.<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

We are neighbors in grief and allies in healing\u2026\u2122<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

* * *<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n

<\/span>The following excerpt from my manuscript, Digging for the Light<\/i>, covers that seemingly senseless day in my life.<\/o:p><\/span><\/span>
<\/span><\/p>\n

The day my son was born.<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

The same day he died\u2026<\/o:p><\/i><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

I\u2019d already filled out the preadmission papers that were supposed to help fast-track the admittance process. I had only a few technical formalities to finalize: verify the information, answer a couple of last-minute questions, complete a few additional pieces of paperwork, and fit the arm bracelet to my wrist. That done, we headed up to the labor and delivery unit.<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/i><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

I can\u2019t believe it\u2019s time! It\u2019s time! My baby will be here soon!<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

In that initial examining room I went through those customary and brief admittance procedures; you know the ones: The nurse smiles kindly as she hands over a hospital gown. She instructs you to \u201cTake everything off; the gown opens in the back. I\u2019ll let the doctor know you\u2019re here. Someone will be with you shortly.\u201d<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/i><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

I stripped down, enlisted Warren\u2019s help in assembling and tying the mess of strings, and heaved myself onto the table, my legs dangling over the side. <\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/i><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Little time passed before the are-you-ready knock on the door came.<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/i><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

As I remember, my doctor had recently returned from a trip to Philadelphia and happened to be in the hospital. He was still wearing a business suit.<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/i><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

If you\u2019ve been involved in any part of a pregnancy, you know what follows:<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/i><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cLet\u2019s take a look and see what\u2019s going on. Shall we?\u201d the doctors says.<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/i><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

One plastic glove. <\/span><\/i>Snap!<\/o:p><\/i><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cLie back, place your feet in the stirrups, here\u2026\u201d He opens the silver foot rests on each side of the examining table.<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/i><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Second plastic glove. <\/span><\/i>Snap!<\/o:p><\/i><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

I know, I know. Lie down and spread \u2018em.<\/o:p><\/i><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

The nurse hands over a tube of goop; the doctor squirts the cold gel into his glove and then disappears as he sits down on the rolling stool and positions himself between my legs.<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/i><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Ugh, I hate this.<\/o:p><\/i><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

He reaches deep with his fingers, the pressure intensifying the persistent contractions.<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/i><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

From then, the conversation proceeded something like this, \u201c\u2026barely dilated\u2026not effaced\u2026cervix not thinned\u2026two weeks yet\u2026go home\u2026see what happens\u2026\u201d <\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/i><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Go home? You must be joking! You can\u2019t send me home. You can\u2019t tell me these contractions are doing nothing!<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

How can that be?<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

So much for walking uphill in a cold rain.<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

I remember telling the doctor I\u2019d been having contractions since two in the morning and they\u2019d progressed to five minutes apart.<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/i><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

This can\u2019t be false labor. It just can\u2019t. It hurts too damn bad to be nothing. <\/o:p><\/em><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

The doctor instructed the nurse to hook me up to the monitors to see what was happening. She told us she\u2019d be back shortly and exited the room. <\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/i><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Warren left to see if his sister had arrived.<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/i><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

The nurse returned with the apparatus; seconds after hooking me up, she departed the room once more.<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/i><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

I don\u2019t remember thinking anything about it until, all of a sudden, people were everywhere\u2026giving orders, operating the monitors, racing to put needles in my arms\u2026<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/i><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

One step I had forgotten. Years after the delivery, I met with one of the nurses who was present that day, and she reminded me of it. <\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/i><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

When the nurse returned to my room the second time, she came in with my doctor, who hadn\u2019t left the floor yet. The doctor broke my water. At that point he saw the meconium (the baby\u2019s first bowel movement.) \u201c\u2026Looks like pea soup in there,\u201d Warren heard him say.<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/i><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Warren doesn\u2019t recall if someone came and retrieved him, or if happenstance brought him back to the room just as the doctor realized the warning signs of trouble.<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/i><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

My mind\u2019s eye sees this: The room, a flurry of unanticipated static\u2026anxious tones\u2026commands\u2026equipment\u2026strange noises\u2026unfamiliar words\u2026Warren walking back in through the door, his handsome, chiseled face, smiling, his thick, dark hair\u2026<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/i><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

I think there\u2019s something wrong with the baby.<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Those words circulating through my brain, creating tension in my body\u2026 <\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/i><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

I try to convey to Warren what has transpired, so quickly, as our eyes lock\u2026as I see someone gently push him out of the way, holding up some papers\u2026<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/i><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI think there\u2019s something wrong with the baby.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/i><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Every nerve ending seizes with the fear of those words. I wonder, now, was I successful in emitting that message from my mouth?<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/i><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWe need you to sign these release papers, Warren.\u201d<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/i><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Those words permeate the visual and auditory muddle that has, within seconds, replaced the vision I created weeks prior in those Lamaze classes.<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/i><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

My tidy, routine delivery with its sunny skies, sandy beaches, and sounds of tranquil waters had vanished in a tidal wave of fear and reality.<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/i><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

And then, the sense of powerlessness\u2026my body immobilized\u2026the inability to move my legs\u2026my arms\u2026my eyelids so heavy, too heavy to lift\u2026like the soundless screams nightmares are made of, the mind says Speak! Cry out! MOVE! B<\/span>ut the response doesn\u2019t come. I strain and strain and, finally, my voice squeaks, \u201cWhere\u2019s my baby?\u201d <\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/i><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Baby Boy, as staff referred to him, was born May 11, 1990, at 3:54 PM.<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/i><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

He weighed a healthy six pounds eight ounces and was twenty inches long.<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/i><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

He was pronounced dead twenty-six minutes later at 4:20 p.m.<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/i><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Someone must have told me the baby didn\u2019t survive.<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/i><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

I remember screaming for Warren.<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/i><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Then darkness.<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/i><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

You are not alone.<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

* * *<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
<\/span>All Rights Reserved<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

How do you relate to the senselessness this woman described?<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Soon\u2026<\/o:p><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u201cIt\u2019s senseless,\u201d she said, before they parted ways. Two women were talking about the unexpected death of a mutual friend. She was sixty-three years old. A mother. Grandmother. Wife. Friend. Vibrant and working one day. Gone the next. Poof! A new story begins. One where the person\u2019s stories will now be spun by those who […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[87,61,327,328,250,14,19,499,54,424,500],"class_list":["post-379643","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized","tag-child-loss","tag-death","tag-digging-for-the-light","tag-excerpts","tag-friends","tag-healing","tag-inspiration","tag-lifes-senseless-nature","tag-loss-and-healing","tag-sudden-death","tag-we-are-neighbors-in-grief-and-allies-in-healing"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/staging.annahelizabeth.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/379643","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/staging.annahelizabeth.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/staging.annahelizabeth.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/staging.annahelizabeth.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/staging.annahelizabeth.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=379643"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/staging.annahelizabeth.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/379643\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/staging.annahelizabeth.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=379643"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/staging.annahelizabeth.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=379643"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/staging.annahelizabeth.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=379643"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}