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"For Sale: Baby Crib, Never Used" |
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The following is a story I wrote for Literature class. It's still a work in progress so I'd say this submission is Part 1. Enjoy! If you have any comments for improvement, I would appreciate it. (>_< wink Arigato!
“For Sale: Baby Crib, Never Used”
This is the saddest story I ever heard. I didn’t just hear it from some random stranger at the corner drugstore; neither was it from a close acquaintance of mine. No, this sad and tragic tale was told to me by someone you would least expect to hear it from. I bought a baby crib for my little baby girl today, as she and her mother are coming home from the hospital tomorrow. The people who sold it to me told me the whole thing. Why is it so sad? Perhaps, you had better sit down for this…
My wife and I had tried for years to conceive a child. It was something we both wanted, of course. I had always dreamed of having my very own bundle of joy to have and to hold in my arms as I rocked her (I wanted a girl, you see) gently to sleep. My wife had dreamed of having a baby boy, one she could sing sweet lullabies to as he lay in his crib at night, and decorate his room with blue paint, toy cars, and other boyish things. We had tried to conceive for so long, yet we were unable to do so. To say the least, we were disheartened.
My wife visited doctor after doctor with hopes of discovering the cause of her infertility, but try as they might, none of these so called professionals were able to tell us anything. They conducted many blood tests on my wife, with all the results coming back saying everything was normal. But it wasn’t normal! We weren’t having a child yet, and both of us were beginning to wonder if we ever would. Still, we held on to our hope and our faith; we prayed for a solution.
Finally, we were referred to a specialist in Las Vegas, Dr. Robin Thatcher, who agreed to conduct extensive tests on both of us to determine the point of origin of our infertility. They tested me first, you know, just to make sure my swimmers were swimmin’ ok. I passed my test with flying colors, but my girl was another story. It was discovered that she has a condition known as Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome, a disease that causes the ovaries to produce too many eggs, which, in essence, clogs the ovaries, and keeps them from releasing any eggs. Well, now we had some answers! We still wondered how we could have a child in light of this new information. Dr. Thatcher recommended a then new procedure that she was sure would finally give us the child we always wanted. We checked if we could afford it, and we could.
Wait? What? Slow down? What does this have to do with the couple who sold me the bassinet? Well, if you will just quit your blubbering maybe I can get to that part, alright?
Now, this whole ordeal happened roughly a year and a half ago. About April, we completed the special procedure, and to my great joy, discovered it had been a success, when Dr. Thatcher confirmed a solid pregnancy on a follow-up visit. My wife and I were enraptured!
The next eight and a half months were spent in joyous anticipation of the arrival of our first child. My wife had become increasingly obsessed, for that is the only word for which I can describe it, in making sure the nursery was perfect in every detail. I suppose you could call it nesting syndrome. Don’t get me wrong! I enjoy it, yet it is a little annoying for a first time father when his girl can’t be satisfied by anything I do with that room. She also became more convinced she would have a baby boy like she wanted.
When we found out that we were having a baby girl, however, she was miffed. I told her it didn’t matter what sex the baby was, so long as we have a healthy, happy baby. Reluctantly, she agreed to what I said to her. Naturally, we repainted the nursery pink to match.
All was going well, when suddenly, two weeks before the baby was to be born, the doctor made a frightening observation. “I don’t want you to be alarmed, but there appears to be a problem with the baby.” “What are you talking about?” I asked alarmingly. My wife started to cry. “The baby’s heart is not completely formed, and it has a hole in it.” I looked at my wife with a glare of utter incredulity. She asked, “Is there anything we can do for her?? I don’t want my baby to die!” Dr. Thatcher looked at us solemnly. “Well, I am afraid if she does not receive a donor heart for transplanting immediately, your daughter will have a 5% chance of survival. You see the hole is in the right ventricle, and it is interfering with the transfer of blood in that side of the heart; there is no way to seal the hole.”
“Please put us on the donor list as soon as possible; are there any chance of getting a donor on such short notice??” I asked Dr. Thatcher. “I have to be honest with you, Mr. Stokes, the waiting list is pretty long at this point; the best we can do is hope for a miracle.” I couldn’t believe it! I was beside myself with confusion, anger; all the good feelings of the previous weeks were now being ground away by the churning gears in my stomach, leaving a deep pit of utter despair.
Yet, in all this, I still had some hope that God would move in some way that might save our poor child. I prayed that He would find a way to allow my daughter to live. God, it turns out, works in mysterious ways. Ten days later, when it was time for Sara to go into labor, I received the most important call of our young lives. It was Dr. Thatcher, with good news!
“Mr. Stokes?” she said, “Well, it is hard to believe, and I would not have anticipated finding a donor with the time we had, but I am pleased to inform you that…we have a donor heart for your baby.” A wave of relief came flowing through my body like a cool stream of water. Yet, I knew we were not out of the proverbial woods, so I asked the doctor what we needed to do next. I was so overjoyed, though, that I failed to ask who were the donor and his/her family.
“You need to bring Mrs. Stokes in immediately. We are going to induce labor,” the doctor said, and hung up. “Honey, get your things, and come with me to the car; we need to go to the hospital!” I called up to her. “Come up and help down! I can’t do this all by myself” she answered rather dejectedly. “Why do we need to go anyway, it’s not time yet?!” I told her, “Sweetie, they found us a donor for Alessa’s heart! I just got a call from Dr, Thatcher herself!” I said this to her as I entered the bedroom where she was sitting. She had a twinkle, a sparkle, or glimmer in her eyes that I had not seen since we first learned we were with child.
“Oh my goodness!?!” tears were welling up in her eyes, and then spilling down her plump, rosy cheeks. “Let me get my coat, and the rest of my stuff”
At the hospital, my wife was taken from me, and rushed into the maternity ward. I was allowed to be there for the delivery, but had to leave when Alessa was born, because she immediately had to be rushed into emergency surgery. I was told that if she didn’t have her new heart within the next few hours, her chances of survival would be next to nothing.
While my wife rested, I sat silently next to her, wondering how we were going to get through this ordeal. And as I was thinking, it dawned on me that I wanted to know who the donor of the heart was. I stood up and walked out to the nurse’s station. The nurse looked at me sleepily.
“Yes, can I help you with something, sir?” the nurse asked. “Yes” I replied. “I was wondering if it was possible to find out who the family of the donor heart is, so that I might thank them for what they did for my family”
The nurse looked at me with some confusion. “Sir, I am sorry to tell you this, but…we are not allowed to divulge donor information, due to a recent law.” At this, I was a bit put off. “So when did this law take effect, and why haven’t I heard of it?” The nurse looked at me as if I was crazy. “Sir, it’s been all over the news; don’t you watch TV?” “No,” I said, “I don’t have cable or satellite” This apparently shocked the young, blond LVN, who appeared to be no more than 21 at best. “Yeah, I can’t afford anything of that sort ever since I lost my job this past two months” I said. “Hell, I can’t even afford to get a crib for my baby girl that is if she even survives this procedure.”
“I’m terribly sorry, sir, but, all I can say is that they are a young couple just like you, who just lost their child today. What the baby died of I am not sure, and I can’t divulge that anyway, I am sorry.” I started to walk away. “Wait”, said the nurse, “I need you to sign some papers for me.”
“What do you need me to sign? I’ve about gotten arthritis from filling out all the rest of ‘em”, I said, getting grouchier at each new turn. “It pertains to the law I just mentioned” said the nurse. “You need to sign this confidentiality agreement” “What? Why?” I asked. She said, “Because it protects you and the donor from infringing on either of your rights; I know, it’s crazy, but it’s just a formality, alright?” I took the forms, read and, reluctantly, signed the agreement. Apparently, it is supposed to protect both parties from identity theft or something.
So I put aside the notion that I would ever know the identity of the donor and its family. Even in today’s information era, I would never be able to find them. So, I gave up, and instead turned to praying. Praying for my wife’s health; my daughter’s survival, of course, was foremost on my mind. God, everything was on my mind in those few crucial hours.
“This is not helping me” I said to myself. “I got to get up and walk around”. So I did so, and I took a stroll around the area. There were many young women in the ward having children, the natural way. Nothing was wrong with them. I noticed some of them were holding their new babes in their arms already. Some were nursing. Some were sleeping; all seemed happy.
Except for one, a young woman lay in her hospital bed at the end of the hall. I didn’t get a good look at her, but I remember her dark blond hair, and also, as I passed by, the look of unimaginable loss in her eyes.
(To Be Continued...)
 Jigoku Shoujo28 · Mon Jun 06, 2011 @ 11:43pm · 0 Comments |
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