Nine months of stewing in a mothers belly. She wasn’t growing, because growing would show something positive. She was stewing; stuck inside a dark area, ready to be given a life that she had no idea would displease her so much thirteen years later.
Doctors rushing in and out of the room, preparing this poor woman for birth after a long, torturous, two day labor. Pillows, check. Gloves, check. Pointy tool thingy, check. Kindness… See, those doctors had everything they needed; sanitary items, surgical items, even comfort items. However, they were missing the kindness in their heart to leave the baby to die off a slow and not so painful death.
Then it starts. “Push! Push!” They yell half at the poor woman, and half to whoever will listen.
What’s the point? Months earlier, the doctors had warned the lucky couple that the baby may (probably will) die, and if they were lucky, be handicapped. Their baby would die. DIE. Death is a forever thing, and you could only guess how sad that would be…
Still, the to-be mom is puuussshhhiiinnng that baby out. She’s losing energy, but not her will to get her baby into the world. Oh, but what’s that? The baby has had a bowel movement inside the mother! What a treat that is. Just another problem to deal with (if only she had stayed in college…). Now not only is the baby dying, but her mother is joining her slowly.
Pop! Something finally gives. The child is now out, but she hasn’t cried. Why? Aren’t babies supposed to cry? Well, MOST babies are supposed to cry, but a baby that is born that isn’t breathing… not so much. She has delivered a dead baby? No, just mostly dead.
“With skin as white as snow”? Snow white couldn’t even compare to how pale the baby was. She was strapped to machines, forced to breathe in air that she didn’t even make. A not-so-beautiful beginning to a not-so-beautiful life.
The first months were like this. Almost the first year. This is how her story begins.