Not That Kind Of Girl: My Birthmother's Story (maybe) Part 6

February 9, 1959
7309 Vernon Road
Richmond, Virginia

Diary of Ruth, prospective adoptive mommy
4:45PM Dr. Simms called to tell us a beautiful baby girl (6lbs, 9 oz) had arrived! I just couldn't help it---had to cry on Grady's shoulder!

February 9, 1959
Retreat For The Sick Hospital
Richmond, Virginia
Diary of Margaret Elaine Talbot, prospective ex-mommy

4:45PM I awoke from the anesthesia a few hours ago. I can't believe it is over. My life is back.

I arrived at the hospital last night when it finally occurred to me that the cramps I'd been experiencing were, in fact, actual labor.

The nurse got a wheelchair for me and wheeled me to a room where I was told to wait. I am afraid that I wasn't exactly the Southern lady at this point. My God, I couldn't believe how much pain I was in. It seemed to me, in the haze of pain, that God was sitting up there laughing sadistically at me. It wasn't enough to be raped, oh no. Nine months of becoming a huge, fat, uncomfortable cow weren't enough, oh, no. Now I had to be tortured some more. Fabulous.

"Please get this thing out of me," I asked, okay, screamed.

"Just be a good girl and the doctor will be with you soon, dear, " she said after checking me.

I cannot repeat what I said to her.

They finally wheeled me into a room and put a mask on my face.

"Just breathe deeply and count backwards to ten," a voice said.

"I think God hates me," I confided to the voice before everything faded to black.

I feel absolutely incredible. I can see my toes. The horrible basketball is gone, forever and ever.

The nurse helped me to the bathroom where I received a shock that transcended any that I had received before.

Where was my 110 lb body? Wait a minute! The baby is gone. Where is my figure? I thought of the tight little dress with a belt that I had excitedly thrown into my suitcase. I had no idea...nobody had told me...

Aunt Mary and Uncle H came bustling in, all smiles.

"It's a GIRL!" Aunt Mary said. "She's so cute....I almost wish that we could take her home with us, but I'm almost 50 and too old to be a mother again, of course." I knew Aunt Mary had always wanted a little girl after raising two sons.

"That's nice," I said. I had no desire to see her. "Aunt Mary, where is my figure?"

"Oh honey," she said, rubbing my shoulder. "You'll be back to normal in a jiffy, I promise."

"You'd better be," rumbled Uncle H, handing me an envelope containing a ticket to sail out of New York on April 15, 1959.

They left.

Later that night I was trying to decide which museum to see (really see!) and which musician to hear first (really hear!) and all of a sudden, out of the blue, I began crying my eyes out.

I cried for an hour. I started with the fact that my dog had died when I was six and worked my way right up to now with my swollen, leaking breasts and enormous, saggy stomach. I cried so hard that the nurse finally gave me a shot.

"Baby blues," she said consolingly.

Baby blues? I don't think so. I hope she has a good life. I hope her parents are enjoying visiting her on the 4th floor.

And I hope I never have to think of her again.

Next: Back to the future.