Author (#623)September 2004 Archives

Tiptoe
By Ani Difranco

"tiptoeing thru the used condoms
strewn on the piers
off the west side highway
sunset behind
the skyline of jersey
walking towards the water
with a fetus holding court in my gut
my body hijacked
my tits swollen and sore
the river has more colors at sunset
then my sock drawer ever dreamed of
i could wake up screaming sometimes
but i don't

i could step off the end of this pier but i got
shit to do
and an oppointment on tuesday
to shed uninvited blood and tissue
I'll miss you i say
to the river to the water
to the son or daughter
i thought better of
i could fall in love with jersey at sunset
but i leave the view to the rats
and tiptoe back"

Jessica stared at the ground, her fingers picking the worn hem of her jeans to bare threads. “We didn’t want to get pregnant, but we were ready to welcome it. I felt like a goddess. My body feeling so sacred as I carried a baby in my womb.” Then the blood had come. The community garden where she worked was sprinkled with it. The restroom seemed to be swimming in it. Stuffing a shirt underneath her to protect her van, she had driven herself to the hospital. The nurse came whisking in yanking the curtain closed only part way. Not even looking at Jessica she paged through her charts. “Well, it could be a complete miscarriage. No heartbeat is detected. Yet, the fetus seems to still be attached. So, perhaps it is still alive. D and C a possibility. Miss. Miss? Did you notice any discharged tissue? Yes? Well, that possibly could have been the fetus. THEY want to do a pelvic. Check your cervix. A catheter is in order. Need some urine, you know, standard procedure to check your hormone levels. Need it without blood, THEY’RE ordering one immediately.” She remembers her anger at her child being called discharged tissue. 'A baby. My baby. Not some fucking tissue.' She named her own little one (Now dying) Ellie.

Ana leaned forward. So quietly: “I found out that I was pregnant and my mom drove me up here for an abortion. I was only eight weeks along. For some reason it is easier to justify the smaller the baby.” She paused, “I’ve been so depressed lately.”

Sam pulled out a cigarette. She had the look of a librarian. Meek and professional. She was anything but. Addicted to mountain dew and nicotine, she was quite wild, on probation and owing thousands of dollars for smashing a McDonalds window. “If I had to do it over again, I would have disguised myself better.” Was her only comment despite having spent months in jail for the escapade. Her lighter flared up shining on her face behind her cupped hand; “I had a miscarriage when I was seventeen.” She puffed on her cigarette and rocked back. “My boyfriends mother had to take me to the hospital, he was such an asshole. He broke up with me a week after I found out that I was pregnant. They poked and prodded at me! You’ll be okay Jess. I think about my baby all the time, but it gets easier.”

My miscarriage left me feeling empty and dead inside. My womb felt like a sepulcher my body dehumanized. Women were created to bring forth life, not to experience death within themselves. Healing comes to help us embrace life and become what we were meant to be. Even when the odds are against us.

He was born in 1930. The hospital did not have the technology to keep his two pound body alive, and they left him in a corner to die. His mother brave and young scooped him up and stole him from the hospital. Despite his cleft palate she fed him with an eye dropper and rigged an incubator for his frail body. He survived.

Attending a conference with my family a man approached my father and I to discuss pro-life issues. He proudly explained that he was in charge of making pro-life commercials. “You know,” He exclaimed, “I come from a city that has more churches and church attendees per capita than any other city, and yet we have the highest instances of abortions than any other city. I just don’t get it!”
I do, and there is healing yet to come...

fetus, blood, tissue, son, daughter, baby, fetus, it, tissue, fetus, child, baby, baby, tissue, little one, ellie, baby, baby, life, life, him, him, him, him

(With the exception of baby Ellie; names in this story have been changed in order to protect privacy.)

When I was three years old we moved in this van from New Mexico to Minnesota. My parents wish was to study under Francis Schaefer in Rochester, where he was being seen at the Mayo Clinic. Francis was dying of cancer and his wife Edith wanting him to have a home away from home opened a L'abri house there.

It was winter in Minnesota and the van had no heat. My parents rigged a space heater with hot glowing coils and a temperament that caused it to shut down every time it was bumped even slightly. The usual culprit was me. My mother had made me a bed on the floor of the van and I found it nearly impossible to keep from hitting that heater with my feet. From this vantage point I could watch my brother, sister, and mother jump up every time my dad yelled "SEMI" and hang onto the roof to keep the air draft from popping up the broken camper top. Much to my dismay I was too young to participate.

When my father tried to sell it my brother and I stood on the lawn watching a potential buyer start the engine. Not knowing any better my brother and I imediately started yelling about all the smoke coming out of the back. My dad was not happy, but the man called back to buy it anyway.

My husband and I wish that it was still in the family, but life changes so quick. I see my son Kaiden's face in this picture of me, and I think of him being my age with hair on his face and a deep voice. I keep waiting to be grown up, but I'm starting to think that it might not happen in the way I think it should.

Mason is my dream baby. He deserves this writing because I did not want him when he was kicking around in my womb. How cold and horrible?!? No, just reality. My twin boys were nine months old when I found out that Mason was growing from a single sperm and egg. I was already a mom of three. And I stayed at home. A stay at home mom. Suzy-Home-Maker. It seems that more often than not it is the stay at home part that defines me much more than the mom part. How was I supposed to have another baby and care for it? I was filled with pain a lonliness. As much as I love my children I don't much like being home alone with them. Birth control doesn't work for us: we had the twins while on the pill, and we like sex

Mason, O Baby.

“How we treasure and cherish the peaceful occasions, too few in number, when we gaze upon something without evaluating its cost or its usefulness: without evaluating it at all, only gaze upon it.”
Rick Bass “The Green Hours” from A Year in Place.

Mason was three weeks old when I first met him. I don’t call babies sweet and mean it. Not often, anyway. But this baby is sweet, I could eat him. He rarely cries—just occasionally waa-aas in a husky little voice like a duck. He nurses text-book perfect: “opening wide, baby must grasp entire nipple including aerola and suck,” and my, does he. He never burps, never spits up, hasn’t had a bath in two days, and yet he smells fresh, like lilies, new grass, sunny air.

He cost a lot, I think. He took more dollars and physical energy than was on-hand. He’s not of much use. He only lies in your arms to receive—milk, the warmth of a touch, the slow beat of your heart. Stroking his cheek with one finger, cupping his silken black head in the palm of your hand, you can smell the sweetness of his tiny breaths. He’s an occasion. A treasure not to be evaluated, only gazed upon.

Anonymously,
A Friend

Mason entered the world at 5:20pm on July 7, 2004. Not only did God grant my prayer for a miracle birth that would brand Mason straight into my heart, He also spoke to us loudly through the events that occurred in our delivery room that day.

My water had already broken and was trying to escape in large quantities every time I moved. We were led to a curtained room and I was instructed to put on one of the many lovely gowns (the kind of clothing that makes you seriously contemplate going home to deal with the pain on your own rather than don that hideous thing). A nurse whisked in and using a tiny slip of paper checked to see if my water truly broke. She sweetly informed me that it was not changing the appropriate color to indicate amniotic fluid. “Are you sure, honey?” she asked in even sweeter tones, “This is your first baby, right?” No. It’s my fourth. Giving me a shcoked look she quickly left the room, perhaps to consult the ‘How to Know Your Fluids Properly’ book. I started to worry. I wasn’t too fond of the prospect of going through such an intense time with a nurse that didn’t trust me and didn’t seem too experienced.

To my relief a different nurse showed up. She informed me that she had my room ready and that she would be taking care of us. It was not possible for me to dream up a nicer nurse. As her only patients that day, she gave us her full attention. We walked into a room with an entire wall of windows and a beautiful view of the mountains. We spent the morning watching the clouds float by and pointing out hawks and eagles circling and diving above the peaks.

Often at night Shaun would curl up behind me in bed and lay his hands on my belly. We would wait. The baby would stir...a hand...a foot. Shaun would run his hands around until he could cup part of the head. The amniotic fluid forcing my belly taught only allowed the feeling in glimpses. This same fluid now fled my body in currents. My belly normally round and hard like a watermelon became slack around his small form. Shaun and I felt and saw his body as a whole being. Once a baby is in my arms my brain works over time to convince me that there is no way this eight-pound child was living in my womb. Not so with Mason. I will always remember seeing him completely before his birth.

The loss of fluid was also causing complications. My wonderful nurse watched as Mason’s heart rate leaped all over the place every time I had a contraction. My uterus was squeezing him and his umbilical cord without mercy. There was concern. My blood pressure dropped; I needed oxygen. They propped me in every position possible. And then God walked into my room in the form of my doctor, Dr. Seeber, holding a plastic piece of technology...an IV. Attaching it to the internal monitor that was tracking my contractions and flipping a switch, it began to pump fluid back in. Masons’ tiny form slowly disappeared along with his erratic heart rate. The nurse checked my progress and felt his head. He kicked me in response as she tickled his head to discover hair.

Time passed and labor became more and more difficult. I accepted the offer for an epidural. As the pain melted away, I was able to once again relax with my husband. Dr. Seeber was known for his willingness to allow hands on participation and when the time came I told him that Shaun would be thrilled to be involved.. As I pushed and Masons head appeared his father was there to catch him. Shaun in his eagerness to embrace his son began to pull and I heard the doctor say “No, no, no! We don’t pull!” One more push and the doctor directed my hands to Masons armpits. I pulled him up and onto my chest as he wailed only once, and immediately snuggled into my breast. I loved him more than I could ever say. The gift of an epidural was so beautiful to me. Drugs that gave me rest after all we had been through and allowed me to enjoy my son in unhuman ways. He is my gift from God. And God is the gift that put love in my heart for my son.

Silly Sammy Slick,
Sipped six sodas and got
sick
sick
sick!
Dr. Seuss

We are sick! It didn't involve soda, more a feeling like glass shards and a nursing baby. Thank you for checking back here (if there is any one!?!). I promise that we are on the mend and have ideas in the works. By Saturday, I promise. Oh no! what have I committed to. Well, I am going back to my solitude to endure my glass shards in peace.

So, If you have any sympathy for a sick woman with four kids (three under age two), send me a dollar and maybe by the time I mend I will have enough to hire a sitter and take my husband out on a hot date!
Blessings.

If you asked me where my bread comes from, without thinking, I would likely give you a very American answer: "from aisle three at the Winn-Dixie." My husband and I have enjoyed challenging this narrow-minded way of thinking in each other. We love illustrating where bread truly comes from and other such stories to our children. Two of the more commonly known are silk and gelatin. The first coming from the ass of a worm the other from bone marrow.