Tuesday, November 26, 2013

She.

She.

She is the woman operating the ultrasound machine, looking concerned for the images she sees of my tiny unborn child.

She is the doctor telling me that something is wrong, handing me a box of tissues with a sympathetic smile.

She is the specialist, checking and re-checking, diagnosing and analyzing, advising and learning.

She is my mother, paining a yellow and green bedroom and listening to my worries.

She is the emergency room nurse, telling me that my Preeclampsia had progressed too far and it was time to deliver.

She is my surgeon, cutting the tiny baby from my womb and closing my sterile and empty stomach with care.

She is the WICU nurse, waking me and asking me to breathe when my medications make me sleep too deeply.

She is the NICU nurse, caring for my daughter as I wish I could.

She is the case worker, handing me a photograph of my little girl when I am too weak to spend all my hours at her side.

She is Penelope, born into a dark and silent world, too small and sensitive to cuddle.

She is my baby girl, taken to the Lord far too soon.


For all the women who cared for and loved me and my daughter one year ago. Thank you.

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