Coming Back to Life

I knew something was terribly wrong when I was awoke with horrible
cramping in my belly, and felt a gush of warm water soak into my bed
sheets. A strangled scream escaped my lips and awakened my husband
Nelson with a start, when I realized what was happening.
"Nel, get the doc, our baby's in trouble!" I whispered in strangled
sobs. Nelson rolled over and touched my slightly swollen belly, and his
eyes flashed open when he felt the moisture of our sheets. He dashed
out of bed and ran about our tiny room in a sleepy, but frantic haze,
knowing that the life of our baby was at stake, and every second
counted toward its existence. I lay completely still, afraid to move a
muscle, so I just cried quietly to myself and began a silent prayer.
Dizziness took over me as I fought to block the past from invading my
mind. The room flashed black and white, the twinges of pain sharp and
jolting in my belly. I finally gave into the numbing light and drifted
into an almost dreamlike state.
* * *
Images of pain came to me. Not the normal expected physical pain, but
the unbearable dreadful pain of bearing a lifeless child. Poor Nel, so
excited to finally have a child after all these years of trying. But
each one was a failure, for with every pregnancy I had, something went
wrong- all six of them. Theodore, George, and Alfred were my first
three sons to be born. I remember feeling them move within my body,
stretching and kicking into my ribs and belly, or at least I think I
do. I don't remember when they stopped, and sometimes I wonder if I had
only imagined that they had, for when delivery time came they were born
a pasty white color, looking like they had been in the bath for too
long, their skin all wrinkled and pruney looking. Yes, my sons were
born dead. By far more difficult was the birth of my last three sons.
All was well until it came time for delivery. Patrick, Jonathan, and
Milford were all the same; labor went as well as could be expected, and
I waited, holding my breath each time for the innate scream, the first
sign of life. But the poor things couldn't get the breath into their
tiny lungs, and they just turned a sickly bluish purple color and went
limp in the doctor's trying hands. Each time was worse than the time
before, and nothing the doctor did brought my beautifully, perfectly
formed sons to life. I held each child to my breast and cried as I
prayed for their souls to God. It was so hard seeing them struggle to
live and watching them die. I'll never forget that disgusting color; as
long as I live I'll hate the color blue.
Behind our house are six tiny wooden crosses with names carved into
each. Yes, we named every single one. We couldn't afford proper
gravestones, so Nel and I worked together each time to create a tomb to
commemorate the life of each child, so they would know that each one
was significant to us and we loved them and still do. I don't remember
the millions of tears I wept as I watched Nel place the tiny boxes into
the dirt. I don't recall ever watching the shovels of dirt pile onto
their useless bodies. Nel thinks it's better that I don't remember...
the only vivid pictures I have of my sons are those of my dreams.
Nightmares. Every night I awoke in a cold sweat, tears streaming my
face, and every night Nel was awakened by my desperate pleas. I was
haunted by my children, for failing them and allowing them to die. Each
night I had the same dream, where they floated inches from my
fingertips, their flesh sickly colors of blue and white. And no matter
how hard I tried to touch them, they were always out of my reach. Their
mouths were open in silent screams and their eyes were black and
accusing. Nothing, nothing would make my dreams cease.
After each failure, I sobbed myself to sleep each night in the arms of
my husband. And each night Nel shed angry tears only my breast between
his prayers, though he doesn't know that I am aware of it. I know Nel
doesn't blame me for all our misery, because we both know that it's
God's will. So night after night we tried to conceive and together we
whispered prayers during our love making that God would bless us with a
child. Nothing saved me from the depression of being a failure, except
finding out I was pregnant each time. It was a time for jubilation, and
to praise the Lord for giving us another chance at bearing life.
I did everything the doctor told me to do with child, and it seemed
nothing mattered. So for this pregnancy, the seventh, I was so careful,
so mindful of the child within me. On the 154th day of pregnancy, as
can be best estimated by the doctor, was when the cramping began. And
yes, I did count the days.
* * *
About an hour after he left, Nelson and the doctor arrived back at the
house on horseback. I was in a feverish state, whispering hoarsely,
repeating over and over, "I did everything right, I did everything
right." The doctor checked me out and gave me a sedative to help stop
the labor. As I began to drift into a fitful sleep, I faintly heard the
doctor talking to Nelson, "contractions... strong and regular...
slightly dilated."
The doctor very luckily stopped the contractions and I was ordered
strictly to bed until the end of the pregnancy. I had lost almost all
of the amniotic fluid, but we were hopeful that I could hold the baby
long enough for it to develop enough to live outside my belly.
The days in bed were long and boring, but Nelson was nothing less than
wonderful. Besides all the farm work he had to do, he cooked and took
care of me as well. But I did nothing at all outside of bed besides
using the outhouse, which he insisted on helping me do. I didn't even
go to church.
Despite everything, 24 days after the first big scare, labor began
again. The pains were sharp and insistent and nothing the doctor did
could quell the baby from making its entrance into the world. Nelson
waited nervously in the next room, on his knees praying aloud. We all
knew the inevitable was happening and I screamed loudly and bitterly
when the final pains came. Not because it hurt, but out of anger for
our misfortune. The doctor held out his hands for the baby to slide
from my body, and when I felt it release from my own, the look on the
doctor's face broke my heart. Nelson listened hard from the next room
for a tiny screech or a wail but there was nothing but silence.
The doctor began working and informed me that I had a baby girl. I
caught a glimpse of dull, brownish red flesh, which gave me hope. A
wave of nausea passed as I recalled a sickly bluish color from the
past. After minutes that seemed like hours, and a careful examination,
the doctor wrapped her in a clean blanket and smiled a little half
smile at me. My baby was alive, but probably wouldn't make it through
the night, he said sadly. He placed the tiniest bundle into my arms,
only weighing a mere pound and a half. I looked at my daughter who
looked emaciated and completely shriveled. I could see all her veins
through her skin, and her head was almost twice the size of her body.
She had no fingernails or toenails and her eyes were slit open but
looked dull and lifeless. I began to shed tears, only because I'd never
seen anyone so beautiful in all my life.
After a time the doctor left and told me he'd see me tomorrow. I heard
a dull roar of conversation then a door slam. Our little house was
quiet for almost two hours and I wondered where Nel was, but I wasn't
concerned, for I was reveling in the feeling of holding my living,
glorious daughter in my arms. She was completely motionless and looked
so peaceful that at times I wondered if she had drifted into
death.
Then Nelson rushed into the room with a small box in his hands and a
goofy smile on his face. My first thought was that he'd already made a
casket, but when I looked closer I was puzzled. He came to us, kissed
me hard with tears in his eyes, and then placed the tenderest kiss I'd
ever seen on our daughter's tiny nose. "Let's call her Leyte," he
whispered. I nodded as he took her from my arms.
Nelson's favorite uncle Adelorde was a traveler. Once he traveled to
an island in the Philippines by the name of Leyte. Upon return, he told
us it was the most beautiful sight he'd ever laid eyes upon, although
it was very tiny, especially in comparison with all the other islands
of the Philippines. That name seemed to suit her perfectly.
Nelson removed the blanket that covered Leyte, and wrapped her in
moist cotton batting that he'd heated over the fire. He put her ever so
gently into the box he and the doctor made and explained what he had
been doing. The box was 30 inches long by 16 inches wide. Inside was a
horizontal shelf which left space at one end and at the bottom of the
box was a beer bottle filled with hot water and a damp sponge. The
shelf served as a bed for little Leyte and the cover was movable and
made of glass so we could see her. There was a small hole in the bottom
and a small hole in the top by her feet so air could pass through
easily. Right next to her was a thermometer, which read 98 degrees.
Nelson constructed the box at the instruction of the doctor, and it
served as a sort of incubator. Then Nelson instructed me to fill a bowl
with breast milk before I fell into a deep troubled sleep, where
ghastly beings that resembled my sons taunted me, accused me the whole
night through.
When I awoke the next morning, Nelson was nowhere in sight. I
eventually found him sitting in an extra room of ours, but I was
shocked. The room was immaculately clean and the temperature in there
was smoldering. He was sitting next to the box he'd made which was
sitting on a table, and he was holding an eyedropper inside. He pause
briefly to smile dazzlingly at me and said, "She's alive and doing
wonderfully," as he wiped his sweat laden brow on his sleeve.
I walked to him and watched lovingly as he opened the miniature
doll-like mouth of Leyte, and squeezed in a drop or two of my diluted
breast milk. Then, very gently he stroked her neck, to aid in her
swallowing. He'd been awake the while night, repeating this process
every half an hour, for she could only take half a dram of breast milk
at a time, which is about half a teaspoon.
Just then Leyte began shaking violently; her eyes bulged in her head
and her mouth opened and closed uncontrollably in silence. I read the
thermometer next to her, which read 94 degrees. Fear clutched me, and I
held my breath as my heart raced in anguish. I thought she was dying.
Nelson jumped up and removed the beer bottle from Leyte's little home
and replaced it with one he pulled from the fire, in turn placing the
cooled one near the fire. I watched in amazement as her tiny body
relaxed and took on a very peaceful look once again as the temperature
in her bed rose to 99 degrees. Nel had been replacing Leyte's beer
bottle about every two hours for the entire night, on top of the
half-hourly feedings. Then very patiently he showed me how to dilute my
breast milk, and to add one drop of brandy every hour into her food,
then how to feed her, for one had to force the feedings upon her. Then
he showed me how to maintain a temperature of 99 degrees, kissed me on
the forehead and stumbled in a sleepy manner towards our bedroom.
* * *
The next few months were nothing short of hell for both Nel and
myself. We didn't have the money to hire a nurse, so it was up to only
us to take proper care of little Leyte. But there was so much to do
around the farm that our neighbors, being kindly religious folk, took
turns helping Nel with the chores around the farm when they heard of
Leyte's miraculous birth. I really don't know what we would have done
without all their help. It was straining on the both of us, with one or
the other always in constant attendance on our darling child. Each of
us only got to sleep every other night, and we were constantly in fear
for her life, for she suffered attacks of uncontrollable shaking nearly
every day. Our main goal in keeping her alive was to maintain her body
temperature around 99 to 100 degrees at all times, to avoid infection
and keep not only her incubator disinfected, but also the room she
stayed in. We kept all light and noise from her in order to keep her
calm and peaceful, for fear that any type of upset would lead to her
death. Throughout her short existence, never once did she peep a noise;
never once did she cry. She eventually developed a waxy-white look to
her, which made her look even more so like a tiny doll, but the doctor
explained that it was from insufficient nutrition and she was anemic.
There wasn't much we could do about this but force her to eat, which
was what it came down to every half hour. Her respirations were nearly
undetectable, but if you looked closely you could faintly see her
little doll chest move up and down with time.
Despite our exhaustion, and endless nights of not sleeping at all, we
kept up hope. Our faith helped keep us strong. On exactly the ninetieth
day of her life, I was scrubbing the floor of her room on my hands and
knees when I heard something that caused my heart to stop for a few
seconds. The faintest, most quiet sounding whimper you had ever heard
was coming from Leyte's bed, which was still her box. I stood up and
looked down at her as her left arm raised up and touched the glass,
reaching towards her mother, the very first movement I had ever seen
her make. Her face, now in proportion to her body, was streaming with
tears and her whimper was becoming louder and louder. Although under
instruction from the doctor not to handle her, I moved the glass and
picked up my crying, healthy child and brought her to my breast. As she
suckled, bonding with me for the first time, her tears quelled and mine
turned into sobs. At last I knew she would be okay. The day Leyte cried
was the day the doctor had predicted to be my due date while I was
pregnant. That day she measured 15 inches in length and weighed two and
one quarter pounds. A silver dollar covered her entire face and an
ordinary finger ring passed over her arm to the shoulder.
That night, as she slept soundly in her box, I had a dream. My six
newborn sons were floating, dancing above my head, but they weren't
accusing me. Instead they were smiling glorious smiles, those of
angels, and their flesh has a rosy healthy glow. They danced in
circles, one big wonderful circle and they were laughing, the kind of
laugh that makes you smile to yourself. They were spinning, spinning so
fast that soon it looked like only one child dancing around my head.
And then they stopped. But instead of six children, there was only one
and it was Leyte, laughing like an angel. That night it was my laughing
that awoke my husband, because I knew my child would live, my very
first living, beautiful child.