Entry

If our life is predicted by our birth, then my life and birth are one and the same. Fight. While still in the womb, my mother hemorrhaged for 3 weeks before I was born. My oldest sister cared for my mother during that time, changing the blood soaked bed my mother lay on and cleaning my mother up. I believe she was 14 at the time. The Placenta was covering her cervix making it impossible for me to travel through the birth canal without killing me. The Doctor gave my father a choice; “either we save your wife or baby”, my dad chose his wife. The baby would have to die. My mother tells this story and says that she overheard my father’s decision to save her and not me, so as she tells it, she prayed and asked God to save her baby too. As the story goes, the placenta moved and I came through the birth canal first to everyone’s amazement. My mother says it was God that answered her prayers and she got another baby girl, the 5th girl in a row, healthy and howling.
Out of all my mother’s children, she says I was the only one planned. At the time of my birth, I had 3 older sisters and 1 brother. My mother’s 3rd child died 10 days after birth; Carol was her name. From the time I could remember, my mother used to remind me that I was the only one planned. I would feel so loved and special. What a warm feeling it used to give me.
My mother says that I slept through the night from the moment of my birth. She says I was a very content baby. My next oldest sister was a fitful sleeper, causing my mother sleepless nights and she says she was so glad that I was such a content baby. Guess I already knew I had to be. I had to keep quiet and sleep because my sister would not.
When I was 6 weeks old my sister and I got Whooping Cough. As if my traumatic birth wasn’t enough, add Whooping Cough on top of that. My mother did not leave the house for a few months, taking care of us. When I was on the mend, my father insisted he take my mother out to a friends’ house for a game of cards. My 14 year old sister stayed home to watch us. After they had gone, my sister says that I stopped breathing and she being the Girl Scout, gave me CPR and I began to breathe again. As I got older and heard this story over and over, I used to fantasize that my sister was my mother also. She gave me life too. She was so beautiful, my sister. I always wanted to be like her.
My first memory was when my mother had my little brother. I was 3 ½ years old. The long awaited 2nd boy, finally! I don’t remember much except that when she bent down to show me the baby, I got confused. In my little 3 ½ year old mind, my mother had died and my sister, now 17 years old was my mother.