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Tuesday, April 6, 2010

Not every story is a fairytale

Everyone loves a good heart-warming story. I for one, enjoy the irony of life. I will do my best to give you the perfect disastrous ending.
Everyone loves a good heart-warming story. I for one, enjoy the irony of life. Give me events that move people's emotions, and I will do my best to give you the perfect disastrous ending. I love disappointing stories, and that just might be the thing that's wrong with me, or at least one of the things.
But to be honest, I didn't write today's story. Instead, I'm merely putting to words, in my own way, an excerpt of a life that was worth writing about.
And now today's story begins:

She looked at her belly once again and smiled. She gently pressed her hand against it, and closed her eyes. It was her way of telling the baby that she was holding on to him. She wanted another child, and after three miscarriages, holding on to hope was getting difficult. Yet this time, things were different: She had made it past the five months mark, and in itself, this was an accomplishment.

Then one day, her water broke, and it didn't even wait till it was time. In fact, it was off by over three months. And worse, it happened while she was jumping through hoops to keep her insensitive boss happy. Needless to say, her doctor wasn't thrilled about the news. Her condition dictated that the fetus would separate itself from her body on its own unless she received treatment, in which case the chances for a normal child would be remote. Despite husband friends and family advising her not to condemn herself to the life of an abnormal child's mother, and to spare that child the suffering that could ensue if he was to be born with a likely defect, she knew what she had to do: She wanted another child, and had faith God would grant her that wish.

And so began her sentence. The remainder of her pregnancy was to be spent in bed, with legs elevated and shots administered daily. And even though sometimes her legs went numb and her thighs screamed of pain, she wouldn't give up, and prayed that her child wouldn't be punished before it was born.
As the term of the pregnancy approached her family and friends knew that the moment of truth was upon them. Her mother feared the worst: Nothing prepares for watching one's child suffer for the rest of her life, and that pain could soon be hers to share with her pregnant daughter.

It was the 4th of April, and the doctor joined the clan of the worried: The baby was to be born in the coming days, with all urgency, its own health and the mother's depended on it. What used to be an effort to keep the baby inside the womb turned into a hope that it would finally decide to come out. Luckily, it didn't take much time to convince it to do so, and so on Saturday the 6th of April, morning came with a special order of contractions, followed by a rush drive to the hospital.

The delivery went on rather quickly, or at least that's how she felt after all the sedatives had kicked in. All she remembered was the initial push, a scream, and then a mask over her head. A few moments later, she felt someone trying to wake her. She opened her eyes as best she could, and saw the silhouette of a nurse holding a baby, and muttering something about a boy, but staying awake was exhausting, so she went back to sleep. A while later, they woke her up again. This time she was in a regular hospital room. Her husband and parents were there, and her doctor was standing next to her, holding a baby wrapped in a white blanket.

"Congratulations, it's a boy. What will you call him ?", he asked, then started lowering the baby so that she could see him as church bells rang in the background. It was Holy Saturday, but in her mind, all she could imagine was God congratulating her, telling her to be happy, and so she took comfort in those bells, knowing her wish had been granted.
She looked at her newborn child, and suddenly couldn't hold back her tears.
Ten fingers, ten toes.
She had given birth to a healthy, normal boy.

"Fadi. That's his name", she finally said, a smile radiating her face.

I hate writing about happy endings. I am a big fan of the idea that not every story is a fairytale, and so this might be a first for me, but as I said, I didn't come up with this story, I just put it to words simply because, well, it literally changed my life. So cheers, see you guys next week, and thank you Mom. Very Much.

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