The Books that Never made it

The forgotten silence

The pain had been so much, it seemed like I was tearing from the inside out, sending horrid tingles all up and down my arms. Sweat beaded my forehead and my hair was slick against my head. I gripped the side of the bed until my knuckles faded to white; my nails digging into the soft spongy mattress as I threw my head back and bit my lip until I tasted blood.

          “C’mon Ivory, one last push!” the doctor urged.

Panting I gulped a large breath of air and pushed, slowly releasing a scream from my tired and scratchy lungs.

          It had been that five or so seconds, everything just seemed to stop. There was silence, the gradually climaxing pain left and I could hear the blood pounding through my ears. Once that moment of peace was over, a loud shrill cry echoed through the room.

All three of the doctors huddled around the end of the bed, their hands busy with something that left blood stains on their hands and sleeves, leaving me without any instruction. All the pent up energy and pain that had been consuming me, flowed away like water. I let my head fall back against the covers, exhausted, my chest rising and falling quickly.

          “Congratulations,” the doctor said reaching over with his blue gloves. In his arms was something pink and red, crying loudly. “It’s a girl.”

I reached out with my long, tired arms and took the squirming, warm pink creature and laid it on my chest, the blankets becoming stained with a bloody slimy mixture.

        She wailed, her little chubby arms reaching up to the sky, her eyes squinting up to me. Her nose wrinkled in distaste as I reached down with my finger and traced her soft cheek with my finger. Little spit bubbles foamed at her mouth and dribbled down her cheek as her legs kicked up in protest.

Looking down to her, warmth spread all through me. I could feel my eyes water, but I felt no sadness. I only felt joy, looking down at her. Her eyes opened, still slightly squinted as she wrapped her little hand around my finger. Everything was so small. From her feet and her curled toes, to her little nose that was still scrunched up in confusion.

          The doctors hovered over me, moving around the room, cleaning up, removing the bloody blankets, and cutting the cord.

          “We’re just going to take her,” one of the nurses said reaching out for her. I instantly eyed the nurse, cradling the mumbling girl in my arms. The nurse, Holly, as I recalled, held out her arms, slowly taking her from me. Instantly the little girl threw her head back and cried realizing she was out of the arms of her mother. I watched with a tear taking refuge in my eye as they took her away to the other side of the room where I could still hear here. I smiled to myself and glanced down to my abdomen that was no flat, no longer all plump and round like it used to be. My little bundle of joy was no longer cooking in the oven.

          I lied still with her in my arms. She was all wrapped up in a little baby onezie, with a little yellow toque over her small round head. She slept soundly against my chest as I propped my head up with my hand, looking down at her.

          It had been so much pain, so much trouble for something just as little and helpless as her. Once and a while she’d squirm uncomfortably and gurgle, wrinkling her face up in distaste. I would then gently soothe her by rocking her gently and caressing her side with my hand.

I jumped in surprise as the door to my room had clicked and swung open in a quick motion. The room had been quiet for so long, I had almost forgotten how noise was so loud to me.

          I turned and rolled over on to my side as I gazed at this figure who stood in a grey suit, tall and slender, his round blue eyes boring on me and what I cradeled in my arms.