Penelope

Audrey Rose

In the middle of January, things went terribly wrong one morning. I began to bleed and have violent cramps. My husband was away at work and I had no transportation. Even if I had, I wouldn’t have been able to drive. I went over to the motel restaurant for help. The owner wasn’t there but his wife was waiting tables. I told her I had to get into town and explained why. She asked around and got me a ride from one of the customers. An American family who were traveling through to catch the ferry to Alaska. They agreed to take me. They paid their bill and we left. We hadn’t gone far when they had a flat tire. The man cursed and his wife began to yell at him. Apparently he’d raced a train to the crossing earlier in the day and hit the tracks at high speeds. This had blown out one of their tires. Now they didn’t have a spare. I had to get into town quickly and now I was stuck along with them. I offered to hitchhike in and send them help. The man looked at me doubtfully while I told him that it was an acceptable practice. I knew someone would stop when they saw people stranded. We waited. It seemed like hours but it was probably only fifteen minutes before a truck happened along. He stopped and the man explained the situation. It was agreed I would go with him and he would send help. The rest of the trip went by in a blur of pain and panic. I was driven to the hospital and taken into emergency. The man went off to get assistance for the tourists while I was admitted.

Within hours, my daughter was born. I was told she was only 2.2 lb. and was dead at birth. At the time this seemed like a blessing. The nurse told me I was young and there would be other babies. I was asked if I wanted a private room and declined thinking about the cost. They placed me in a room with two other women. One was chatty and sociable while the other was too sick to notice the new arrival. The woman began to ask me questions to determine my married status, where I lived, where my husband was, how old I was and other information she deemed important. I answered her as I never considered it was none of her business. She was an adult and therefore entitled to make inquiries. As I lay there, I wondered how my husband would know where I was.

A nurse came into the room. She was efficiently decked out in a crisp white uniform and she carried a clip board. She addressed me by my married name which sounded alien. In a brisk voice she began to ask me the required questions due to the still birth. She told me that due to the age of the fetus it had to be recorded as a death. A death certificate must be filled out and signed. I had to decide on a name for my daughter. While I digested this news, she placed a form on the table in front of me and handed me a pen. As I stared at the sheet of paper she asked me what I wanted done with the remains. This was a confusing word so I repeated it. Impatiently, she gave me the options of a funeral or donating the body to science. Standing there, she waited for my decision. I thought about arranging a funeral for something so seemingly insignificant. While I’d felt the baby kick inside my womb no emotions of attachment had happened so I chose science. The woman in the next bed immediately disagreed with my choice. The nurse told her to be quiet and left. While I filled out the form, the woman barraged with information about what happened to donated babies and urged me to reconsider. She cited chapter and verse about how they were chopped up into little pieces. I silently kept filling out the paperwork trying to block out her words. Funerals cost money and it seemed frivolous to me. Remembering my grandmothers funeral when I was five I thought nothing would be gained by such an experience. The woman began to cry and declared me uncaring while I was struggling over the decision of what name to choose. I couldn’t choose a name that I might want to use if I had another girl. I didn’t want an ugly name either. Family names weren’t appropriate either as they should be saved for children who lived. I had two names and I didn’t want to short change her with only one. As the woman next to me sobbed, I printed Audrey Rose in the correct spot. Emotionally exhausted, I lay back down and fell asleep. When I awoke, to my relief, the form had been collected.

When my husband came to visit that evening, he told me it was for the best. When the woman heard this, she snorted in disgust but said nothing. I didn’t tell him of her reaction to my decision. He stayed a few minutes and left with excuses about having things to do before he went back home. He didn’t like hospitals and had been uncomfortable while visiting me so I was relieved when he departed.

My hospital stay lasted two days and when I was released he came and collected me. We returned home together and I went to bed. A couple of days later my breasts filled with milk. This perplexed me. I hadn’t expected to produce milk as I’d only been six months pregnant. With no infant to feed my breasts became full and painful. They began to leak streams of pale white fluid. I thought they would dry up quickly if the milk wasn’t drained. For days, my breasts leaked fluid. In desperation, I bound them tightly to discourage milk production. When it seemed there would be no relief, I broached the subject with my husband. He drove me into town to see a doctor. The physician prescribed me some medication while complaining about the hospital not foreseeing this. I didn’t care, I just wanted the flow to stop. The medicine took effect in a few days and my breasts returned to normal. Up until then, I’d never thought about nursing but this reassured me I would have ample sustenance when I had another child.

Our life returned to normal. In March, my brother’s wife had a baby girl. When I heard the news, I thought about Audrey Rose. Their daughter was healthy and they were happy. When knitting a layette as a gift for them, I remembered my little girl. Through the years, Audrey Rose has never been far from my mind. I hope she understood the choice I made. My only regret is that I will never know. Through the years, other people told me I made the right decision and its comforted me. However, I’m haunted by the reaction of that woman in the hospital. If I was wrong, I’m sorry baby.

__________________
"Trees cause more pollution than automobiles do." Ronald Reagan ~ 1981

Poetry Editor @ Sacred Twilight

johnlibertus

I consider the older woman's reservations to spring from a foolish, sentimental attachment. God knows where to find his own. It was her faith lacking, not yours, Pen. I've buried my Dad, my wife and my Mom, but I know I'll see them again.

And don't pity Audrey Rose: think of all the suffering God spared her. Heaven gives, and takes back to itself.

Parenthetically: you have a beautiful clarity in your prose style.

john

Penelope

whew! I was concerned this would be considered over sentimental tripe. It was tough to write but cathartic. I wonder if that woman ever gave me another thought or regretted her comments. I agree with you about my decision, but then again, I would.
Thanks so much John. Your reassuring words mean a lot to me.

__________________
"Trees cause more pollution than automobiles do." Ronald Reagan ~ 1981

Poetry Editor @ Sacred Twilight

Kimberly Bird

Well, Penelope, it takes a lot to write about something that is so emotionally attached to you. I had a similiar experience but mine was a boy, and I don't know what they did with that tiny fetus. I felt so emotionally detached and upset all at once, like being in a nightmare just trying to get out. And the husband thing was dead on.

I never named mine though because my pregnancy was a shorter duration than yours, but every once and while the girls ask me about him and what I would have named him. I think I would have named him Levi.

Take care

Kimberly

Penelope

She was the only one I had to fill out a death certificate for Kimberly.

__________________
"Trees cause more pollution than automobiles do." Ronald Reagan ~ 1981

Poetry Editor @ Sacred Twilight