The End of the Experiment

From: FightingForEverythingWhiteHouse.gov

The doctor came out at that moment. He said…

“She’s okay. She’s not great, but she’s holding on tight with both hands. Your girl wants to live.” We clap and whoop and wipe tears that we didn’t know were falling. The President has me wrapped in a tight hug when I realize he hasn’t mentioned the baby. Abbey and I are having the same thought.

“Dr., the baby? Is she all right?” He finally takes of his paper cap and clasps his hands in front of him.

“Ma’am, I was talking about the baby.”

“I thought you meant Zoey.”

“No ma’am. Zoey’s not faring quite as well. You see, when we took her to the OR for the C-section, the medication began to kick in. Also, the baby’s vitals stabilized, as did Zoey’s. Her state is precarious right now, but we’re certain that trying to force her into labor will do more damage than good. And, as you all know, the longer the baby is in her mother, the greater chance she has to fully develop her internal organs, specifically her lungs. That’s where our major concerns lie.”

“So, how long are you going to try to maintain the pregnancy?”

“As long as we can, ma’am. Until it is a mortal threat to Zoey. We won’t sacrifice her, but we want to give the baby the best chance we can.”

“Okay. Thank you, Dr.” They shake hands.

“I’m just doing my job, ma’am.”

“No, you’re saving my children’s lives.” He nods humbly and disappears back behind the swinging doors. A nurse steps out.

“You can see your daughter for a while if you’d like.” It’s rare that they’d allow us all back there at once, but it’s a slow day, I suppose. I’ve had better slow days.

Jed

I’m holding Abbey’s hand when we enter Zoey’s room. I have to lean on the door when I see her. My little girl’s hooked up to every machine imaginable. Her hair is fanned out around her like a dark halo. The pale dankness of the room robs her of her color. The only sound is the deafening rush of the ventilator that’s just barely keeping her alive and the heart monitor that registers the beating of a beautiful heart. It’s hard to imagine this little grown up, coming from Abbey and me. It feels like just yesterday, she was five with her little beret and jumper dress headed to school with her pink Baby Bop backpack and matching lunchbox.

When did she turn twenty-three and becomes someone’s mother? Now, she’s fighting for the life of her child. My baby’s got a baby that she might not even live long enough to see live. I don’t know what I’ll do if I lose my Zoey. She’s had so much joy about this child and yet, so much pain. She’s taken a lot onto her shoulders and this is where it’s gotten her. I’m so proud of her, but I’m angry that one more semester made a difference. I would’ve have been just as proud and in love with her as I am now, as I’ve been since the day she was born. Just like Ellie, all she’s ever had to do for me to love her is to come home. It doesn’t and never will go away. That’s the way it is.

I take a place at her side and stroke her alabaster cheek. She looks more like Abbey in her sleep than she acts like me when she’s awake. Her eyelids flutter and she moves slightly in pain. Her heartbeat increases and I hold my breath until she’s still again. This is waiting. Waiting isn’t seeing whether a submarine has gone quiet or is in distress. Waiting isn’t waiting to see if Congress is going to call for your resignation because of a lie you didn’t mean to tell. Waiting is seeing the future of your family hanging by a thread.

This is waiting.

As her father speaks to her, I sit at the end of the bed. I see him sing to her, scold her, and pray to her. All he wants is his family intact. Abbey sits on Zoey’s other side, holding her unencumbered hand. She wraps a rosary around her fingers and whispers a prayer. Zoey’s eyes flutter open and she looks at me. I try my best to smile, but my best may be less than enough.

She smiles past the respirator, then looks to her parents groggily. They smile at her hopefully. She squeezes her mother’s hand. They whisper their love to her and she blinks in understanding. She starts to drift off soon despite our hopes and we let her go, because we’re all sure that she’s coming back.

I hesitantly reach out to touch her stomach and am rewarded with a swift kick to the hand. I pull back fast and then reach out to touch again. I lay my palm over the very peak of her belly. This time, I know it’s a punch. I laugh, because that’s my daughter in there. My daughter with God’s greatest work of art. I lean down and tenderly kiss the little mound of person.

“Fight for this, Zoey,” I tell her. “Fight for this little girl. Fight for the dream that can still come true. Fight for us.” I hope I’m not too late to be heard.

Abbey

I watch Charlie whisper to Zoey and to the baby with equal amounts of love and spite. I’m angry at this whole situation. Admittedly, partly directed at my husband, but most of it’s pointed towards him. I don’t want to still be mad, but this is my daughter. He was supposed to love her unconditionally, no holds barred. When did love become an ‘only if…’ situation? Only if you don’t get pregnant will I continue to love you. Only if you don’t get pregnant will I stay with you. Bullshit and that’s all I have to say.

I can’t say anymore, because he just begged my daughter to keep going and to keep fighting for her family, especially their baby. I can’t be angry with my son. I love him too much and I’m praying that he doesn’t screw up this chance he’s been given since I think I can safely say that he won’t get another one.

And even if he does, I may kill him first. Son of mine or no.

Subject: The weeks of April 20 – May 4,

I can feel them touching me. I can hear Charlie pleading with me. I won’t give up because my baby needs me. I love him, but I haven’t decided whether or not I can forgive him yet. So, for now I’m living for my baby, parents, and my sisters. Just for a little longer. Okay, three months is more than a little, but I’m taking it a breath at a time. And my baby needs every one of them.

I can do this. I know I can, because too many people would be let down if I did any less. Death isn’t an option. Not for either of us. I try to sigh dramatically, but the tube in my throat makes it a no-go. I don’t know what it feels like to have a machine breathe for me. If feels like breathing, but I’m not doing it. There’s this little plastic clip on my finger. And this beeping all around me and the muttering of my family.

It’s this beautiful noise, this white noise that I love. Punctuated by the restless movement just under the covers. I can feel it and see it all at once. I wanna talk to her, to tell her to calm down. Have you ever felt your child worrying inside you? She’s worrying. She’s been reaching for me and I haven’t been reaching back. I close my eyes and think of her. I think to her.

Suddenly, the movement stops and she calms inside me. In my mind’s eye, I can see her sucking her thumb in her repose. Her foot kicks out to let everyone outside know that she’s all right. She’s so tiny. I can hardly imagine the feel of her warm weight in my arms. Three months seems like such a long time to wait for this kind of joy, but just long enough to wait to be this blessed.

To my surprise, Daddy clears his throats and strokes my hair. This feels so familiar, so…right.

Oh, my angel, I swear to thee, Dear.
You are safe and protected here.
This manger offers a softer place for your descent
for you to land from Heaven went.
Mother guards you on your left.
Father guards you on your right.
The Lord, himself guards you from above.
Doubt, never, this.
You are surrounded by love.

I would be smiling right now if I could. This feels wonderful. I haven’t heard that song in so long. I can remember singing that to Noah when all this crap first started. Now, my father’s back to singing it to me. Full circle. I may be the momma now, but I’ll always be my Daddy’s little girl.

Sleep is so beautiful when you have a dream to wake up to.

I fall back asleep at the end of the song. Just like old times. I dream of my daughter swinging on the porch swing in Manchester, her hair blowing in her face as she laughs with glee. She’s perfect in every way with a pair leaf green eyes to offset her dusty complexion. What a perfect child.

I watch from a distance and hesitate to move closer. If I see anymore, I won’t want to leave. I already know that I have no choice. I wish I could touch, hold her. She’s gotten so big since I held her last.

My mother lifts her into her lap and enfolds her in a loving embrace. I know that love. I’ve been there before. She thrives under the attention and starts to animatedly recount her day at preschool. She learned to write her name today. Abigail. What name could be more fitting of such a girl? I blow her a kiss and hop over the fence behind me. I have to stop myself from looking back to them and keep going. After a while, I’m sure I hear her calling for me. It hurts so much to keep walking away. I can’t stay anymore; I’ve already been here too long. I just had to wait a moment and see the girl I made. She’s so stunning. I’m proud of what Charlie and I did.

I just wish I could hold her in my arms once more. I haven’t held her since the day she was born. I know I have to let go, but I’m not ready yet. Even though, I leave now, I know I’ll be back. I always come back.

I wish I could live this life with her. I’d give anything for one more moment. Anything at all. But an angel called to me and said that my time on earth was done, and what more could I do, but obey? My fate was sealed and so I left my precious newborn daughter in the loving embraces of my parents and her father. What greater trust is there? None. There is none.

Death is so lonely and I’m not convinced that Heaven exists.

Tears leak from Zoey’s clinched eyes. I lean down and brush my lips across her forehead. She stirs but a little and turns away from me.

I wonder what kinds of dreams she has. Does she have the same nightmares I did? The worst-case scenario, the dream -- that magnificent dream? Does she have that? Is she seeing her child living on without her? I pray not, but I know better. That is the fear of every mother, to not be there for their children during their lives. A righteous fear, I think, for any parent.

I feel as though I should be doing more, gathering her into my arms and singing to her, though that’s never been my department. Her father’s always done that. He’s always been her hero. Mine, too.

My hero’s falling apart as he, along with us, is forced to watch helplessly as our daughter battles God and nature for the baby’s she’s fought for and her very life. He made an impossible choice and I didn’t help him. Everyone calls me the strong one. I think they’ve sorely underestimated my guy. He’s what keeps us all going. In an affectionate moment, I reach out and touch his hand, showing him that none of this rests on his shoulders, to warn him to lighten his burden onto me. I fear him taking this all onto himself, taking all the responsibility. I don’t think he could survive. This entire thing is tragedy enough for me.

My family is so precious to me. I’d take their places in a heartbeat. Keep beating, Zoey’s heart, don’t stop.

Zoey

This has been the most ironic of rides. I don’t think I’ll have another experience like this in my life nor would I want to. I believe I could live out the rest of my time satisfied with this one extreme in oddity. Now, I want to raise my daughter. That’s all I want.

Maybe later, I’ll think about going back to school. I like French. I guess I could be an interpreter. Or I could teach. I don’t know. It’s not as though I don’t have the time to think it over. I can’t talk and I doubt I’ll be getting this thing out of me any time soon. So, I shall think.

But what about? Nothing. I have nothing to think about. Maybe about the baby’s name. Okay, what would be a good name for my sweetheart? Abbey, Jane, Carrie, Sarah…Anna. I like Anna. Anna Bartlet-Young. That is pretty close to Annie. I don’t know. Anyway, it goes on the list. Melanie. That’s nice. Sweet Melanie.

Melanie Anna Bartlet. I think we have a name. I let myself rest again knowing that one more thing in my life has been decided. By me for a change.

If it is ever my choice, I’ll never leave my daughter behind.

Zoey’s been wavering between asleep and awake for a few hours now. The President left a while ago to deal with some situation in the Middle East. He left grudgingly; he wanted to stay here with his family. We want him here too.

The doctor came and did a quick ultrasound while she slept. I saw my daughter for the first time and I fell in love again. I was already crazy about her, but now I’ve seen her, gently sucking on her thumb. My little girl is perfect the world be damned. I’ve heard about the threats against Zoey and the baby. I’m not deaf or stupid; I know people dispute our ever being together and even more our having a baby together. On the Internet, she’s been called terrible things. You would have to be a father to know the kind of rage those words ignited in me. They spoke as though they had to save Zoey from that child and me. I can only imagine how horrified she would be if she knew.

I can’t stand that in this world people are allowed to target unborn children because of their parentage. I don’t care what color Zo’s skin is, or mine. All I know is that she is my heart and I would die for her on any occasion with the slightest provocation. I would give anything.

Why can’t love alone survive in this world? I don’t know the answer to that, but I know it can’t.

Zoey

A few days pass before the doctor even thinks about letting me out of here. The hemorrhaging has stopped ---Thank God for small favors--and I can breathe on my own. It’s a relief not to be so close to catastrophe now.

I don’t think Charlie has left my side the whole week and a half I’ve been here. Mom only left to insure that Daddy didn’t kill people in his hurry to get back to me. Believe me, she didn’t want to go either, but when all else fails, he needs his touchstone. I understand.

Of course, when it’s time for me to leave the hospital, the whole damn world shows up. Mom and dad are gathering up my stuff, which includes a baby bag I had Gina bring because we thought I might go into labor. In a way, I’m glad it was a false alarm, but I’m also disappointed. I wanted to hold my baby now. I guess I’ll have to wait three more months. Which means that, damn, I’m gonna have to write my valedictorian speech. So close.

My graduation is a month away and I am not any closer to finishing my paper. A matter of fact, I’m almost behind. If it weren’t for Charlie and my parents, I’d have lost an entire week of my journal. I wish I knew what they’d written. Maybe it’s better that I don’t. It was hard enough watching them worry from here, it would be a dozen times worse knowing what they were thinking when they thought no one would find out. Those are their thoughts and I’ll let them have them. At least until I have to write this damned paper. I could so stand to be in school another year.

It feels odd to have the whole building stop to watch me leave. Charlie pushes my wheelchair and Dad is holding the baby bag. I can imagine that would be appealing to some. Mom is holding my purse and supervising to make sure the guys don’t trip over themselves in their efforts to cater to me. If my father asks if my leaving is really a good idea one more time, I take no responsibility for what I do next. I’m sorry; I don’t want to be here anymore.

As soon as we step foot outside the automatic doors, I’m blinded by flashing camera bulbs. The damned paparazzi. Is nothing sacred? I instantly regret such an obvious question. Of course, nothing is sacred. Let’s be serious here, it’s the press. The American Press at that. They have no shame…but neither do I.

I am not ashamed of being pregnant or having complications. Or not being married. Yes, I’d rather be married, but it’s okay that I’m not. I’ll live with it. Rather that than die with it. I’ve had it with what the People are saying about me. I want to be home with my son. That’s all that I need. He’s what matters. I’m more than over this.

Charlie helps me into the car and my parents climb in behind us. We don’t bother with conversation with all that’s going on. I think my mother is a little unhappy with me right now. I found out that Dad told mom everything. I have a feeling that I’ll be getting a firm talking-to one of these days. I told my parents that I wanted to go to Manchester. But the doctor nixed that idea real fast. He said that at six months pregnant, mass traveling would be inadvisable. I want to go home. My parent’s response? “Tough.” I’m feeling the love. I am.

Unsurprisingly, I fall asleep between mom and Charlie on that way back to the House. When the car stops, they gently jostle me back to wakefulness. I stumble out of the car and they nudge me into the wheelchair and propel me indoors. I lace my hands together over my stomach and lean on my father’s hand as it rests on my shoulder. I smile at the staffers as I pass by. I can’t remember all the names, but I know the faces. They know me, too.

I’ve come full circle in a way. Five-year years ago, I was nineteen and just on my way to college. My dad was newly elected, my mom was in Pakistan, and I’d just met Charlie. It didn’t take long for me to fall in love with him. I knew I loved him from that moment in the kitchen when I asked him if the chili needed cumin. He said it needed oregano. A man that could cook, a man after my own heart. It took me weeks to work up the courage to ask him out. Then, he looked so panicked I almost backed out. But after asking for Dad’s permission, which pissed me off, he accepted and we went out. It never occurred to me that people would have an issue with us being together. I didn’t give a damn that he was black. He was Charlie and he was calm and funny and handsome. I found out soon enough that he had warm arms too. I love his arms. I miss them.

He’s been apart of my life for so long that I don’t believe there’s any way to get him out. I don’t want him to leave anyway. We’re going to have a daughter together. We have to like each other, for Melanie’s sake if nothing else. The ride up to the elevator is peppered with small talk between my parent as mom tells us what Noah’s been up to since we’ve been sequestered at the hospital.

“He crawled across the blanket on his stomach. It was like he knew me.”

“Of course, he knows you, you’re his nana.” She smiles at that. She loves being a grandma.

“He’s growing into his looks. He’s got some honey blonde hair and big blue eyes.” She looks sideways at dad. “I’d say he fits right in.”

“Wherever would you get an idea like that, Abigail?”

The silence is a glare in his direction. “You’re a smart man--”

“And that’s a stupid question,” we all finish for her. Seriously, time for some new material, ma.

“I daresay I’m becoming predictable.”

“It’s in the realm of possibility.”

“Don’t get sent back to the hospital.” Oh, yeah, I’m scared. I feel a nice hard pinch on my shoulder

“Ouch. That hurt.” She smirks behind me. “Okay, you’ve made your point.” The doors open in front of us and they roll me to room. “You know, I can walk.”

“You know, you could have said that when we got out of the car.”

“Yeah, but all this way? Nah.” But I do get out of the chair once we got closer to my bedroom door. In a matter of seconds I manage to trip myself up on the carpet runner and almost go down headfirst. Nice one, Zoey.

A little while later, I’m swathed in bedclothes and listening to my immediate family cluck over me. Yes, it’s humbling, but come on. Enough already. After a time, I just tune them out and go to sleep.

I’m groggy when I wake up, not a new experience, but no more pleasant than the last time. Except for the warm weight pressed up against my side. I crack my eyes open to see Charlie dozing with Noah securely in his arms. I love the beauty of his smooth dark arms around Noah’s pearly body. I wish I had a camera. Just this sight should quell the fire of hate in any soul. Melanie kicks in glad agreement and I reach down to greet her.

“Hello, honey.” She kicks me a little hello. I smile wider and curl my arms around my belly. She likes when I do that. “You feelin’ okay, Mel? I feel pretty good, too.” I scoot to the edge of the bed to look out the window. I can see straight out. It’s dark outside by far and the stars twinkle in the sky. I sink my toes into the plush sand-colored carpet. It makes me wish I were on the beach. I stand up and waddle over to the window for a better look. I can see all the little cars driving by. I see the lights and the people on the sidewalk. I see the whole world from here. I wish Melanie could see it.

“I promise I’ll show you this before we go home. You have to see how big the world is, but I don’t want you to be afraid. There are a lot of people who’d die to protect you. Don’t worry about a thing.

Oh, my angel, I swear to thee, Dear.
You are safe and protected here.
This manger offers a softer place for your descent
for you to land from Heaven went.
Mother guards you on your left.
Father guards you on your right.
The Lord, himself guards you from above.
Doubt, never, this.
You are surrounded by love.

“We love you and we’ll never let them hurt you.” Tranquility comes over me and my smile widens. “Good night, little girl. Good night.” I go back to bed and lay down next to Charlie, admittedly tucking myself steadily into his side. I haven’t forgiven him, but I have missed him.

From: Zoey Bartlet

Subject: Week of May 14, ; It’s almost over!

My dreams alternate between heaven on earth and hell in purgatory. They say pregnant women have nightmares, but these are terrors. I hate this fear. It’s every night now. It’s jarring how fast the next month passes. My family hovers, Charlie included. The Senior Staff peeks in the give me a belly rub, which drives me nuts, but they mean well. Melanie enjoys the attention, so I let her have it.

I finish my papers for the most part by hand and then transfer it to a laptop stationed haphazardly on my stomach. I’ll give it this; I’m a portable computer desk. I kept it simple. There wasn’t much to say. It didn’t affect much except to have people question my family’s values, this administration’s stand on values, whether or not my father had completely lost him mind, or whether I had. It also made them damned nosy. Politically speaking, I wasn’t much for political hay. I was in a committed relationship and I got pregnant while having sex with the man I thought I’d end up marrying. He wasn’t ready for a child and we broke up. I wasn’t promiscuous and he was just young (no pun intended). There’s nothing to say. I haven’t been shunned. My child will be christened, out of wedlock or not, my father won’t have it any other way. And neither will I. I will bring her up in the ways of our Lord, Jesus Christ. If the public’s got a problem with that, they can kiss me.

Anyway, the day of my graduation finally comes. Having spent the remainder of April and the beginning of May in bed, I can honestly say I am completely rested. The size of Sri Lanka? Yes. But well rested. I leave the Residence around noon to practice the procession. I find my seat and I talk to my friends who were massively worried about me. I tell them not to worry and that I’m fine. They know instinctively that I’m full of it. I shrug it off and go over my speech. I have to talk about things, actual important things. My dad’s gonna go up and give the commencement speech, then I have to go up in the wake of that. Toby wrote Daddy’s speech, but I had to write my own. Something about the experience of it. I wanted Toby to write mine. There’s no way I can stand up in the face of that. Have I mentioned that I want to kick things? I can’t even see my feet, so it wouldn’t be advisable.

Time must get away from me, because suddenly there a pall over the crowd and I hear people shuffling quickly to get out of the way of my parent’s entourage. I’ll be damned. I check my watch. Yep, it’s two already and it’s time to start. I would have a last name that starts with B. Just the luck of the draw I suppose.

Dad searches me out in the sea of hats and gowns and finding me, throws me a thumbs-up and fist to his heart. I return the sign to him and he grins. He’s proud of me and I love how that feels. Melanie shifts her ascent. After today, I won’t have to keep this a secret anymore. Though, I’m not sure how much of a secret it is anyway.

I’m thinking my way through Daddy’s speech so that I won’t intimidate myself into not going up there at all. I’ll listen to it later, after I’m done. I’m sure he’ll happily give me the highlights. He’ll be the only one besides Toby who knows all the words.

Then, everyone rises to their feet and gives my Dad a standing ovation. I stand too and take out my little disposable camera. He stops for me to take a quick picture and grins sunnily. Man, can the man beam. He then recesses to his place near the rear of the stage with the other honored guests. He, of course, being the most honored. Then the Dean of Students comes forward and starts to call out the names. My stomach drops – metaphorically speaking – and my palms start to sweat.

“Nancy Adler.” I see her at the beginning of the first row, scurrying up the steps to accept her diploma. She was a magna. I try not to act up. I’m a summa. Summa cum laude is with the highest honor. Magna is just great. Yes, I’m being a bit snotty, but I earned my grade point average. Believe you me.

“Dane Allison.” I whoop it up with my friends since I know this guy. He’s a summa. Not to say that I don’t have friends who are not. I have plenty and I’ll whoop it up for them too.

“Sarah Altman.” Another friend of mine. I think I’m gonna lose my voice before I even get up there.

“Blaine Andrews.” I just clap this time. Must preserve the voice.

“Michael Androski.” This could take while. And it does. It must be forty-five minutes before they even get to the B’s. Thankfully, I’m third from the top. And my friend did the sitting arrangements so I’m on the aisle. Oh, yes.

“Nicole Banks.” Hate her. All of us make faces at her back. We’re gonna be in the gossip section of a magazine.

“Nicholas Banks.” Her twin brother. Hate her; love him. How could they turn out so different?

“Zoey Bartlet.” I rise and try to hide my blush as the entire assembly goes ape. Guess a lot of them were here to see me. Dad even stands up from his seat to join in. He’s totally bias. I don’t mind though. One of the honored guests comes down to help me up the steps to the platform. I shake the Dean’s hand and smile for what has to be a million pictures before descending the other side after throwing a smile at Daddy. I know mom’s out there so I make sure to smile. I think I spot Charlie and I blow him a kiss because wherever there is Charlie, there is Noah.

I retake my seat and wait as the ceremony passes slowly. It’s hot out and these gowns are heavy and we’re getting overheated and sleepy. At least, Dad kept it relatively short, but these guys are really making a go of it. I wipe the sweat from my face with my sleeve and puff air at my tassels to keep them from sticking. Damn, it’s hot.

Dad’s sitting on the stage, directly in the path of the sunlight and he looks about ready to leave, get some ice cream, and come back when they’re done. I totally want Rocky Road. Melanie rumbles and the want becomes a craving. Great. I tug on my robe and am thankful that I wore the three-quarter-sleeved v-neck underneath instead of the sundress. That thing would be like wax paper right now for all I’m sweating.

At last, some guy that I don’t care who is steps away and the Dean takes his place at the podium. I sit upright, realizing that my cue is coming.

“Now, without further adieu, I present to you, Valedictorian of the class of 2003, Zoey Bartlet.” I rise without assistance and follow the same path as before to take the Dean’s place. Silence falls and I take a deep breath. I release the dais from the choking grasp I have on it and rest my hands lightly on top. This is my moment; everyone’s looking at me. Cameras are flashing high and low, left and right. And now I realize I’ve lost my cards. My friend waves them at me discretely. That’s nice, I left them in my seat. Good going, sweetie.

I’m going to have to fly this one blind. With all the camera flashes, blind is about right. I take another breath. The truth will do it every time.

“I had a speech prepared. No one else wrote it. Not Toby Ziegler, though I begged him. Not Sam Seaborn, though it would’ve been nice. I wrote it. And it was pretty bad.” I hear some vague chuckling in that mish-mashing ocean of watching eyes. “Then, I remembered my mother once said to CJ Cregg. She said, ‘The truth will do it every time.’ So, here it is. Here’s the truth. Six months ago, I was called to my guidance counselor’s office. She said that I was two credits short and in danger of not graduating with my class. It was too late for me to get another class in without neglecting the ones I was already struggling with. Apparently, two of my professors got together and came up with this assignment. I would walk around until the end of the year pretending to be pregnant. I was supposed to keep a journal on what I felt and experienced and observed in that time. I was supposed to record how people reacted. That caused some fresh hell, but it was fun sometimes. That’s what I was supposed to do, but that’s not all that happened.”

My skin is heating up, but I feel so cold. “I started getting sick almost as soon as I started. I thought I was getting too into the role, but it turns out that that wasn’t it. I soon found out that I was, in fact, pregnant. I didn’t really need the pregnancy suits anymore. But before I found that out…I lost a good friend. Most of you know here and I don’t have to say her name. She was lost and misguided, but good. She left me a beautiful remembrance. She entrusted me with the care of her most cherished asset: her son.” My voice catches and I brace myself. Somewhere out there, he’s watching. He doesn’t even know the difference between her and me. “That was hard enough to deal with. Then, to find out I was pregnant and I couldn’t tell anyone. In hindsight, it was stupid. But graduating with you guys meant a lot to me. I couldn’t tell my mom and she was gone. My father was the only one I told and that was after I told my boyfriend. That didn’t go over well. With my boyfriend, I mean. My father was more upset with him for hurting me than with me for finding myself in the family way. Yes, my boyfriend dumped me. It hurt, but when I started suffering from complications, I figured out pretty quickly that there were bigger things to worry about. From day one, I’ve been at risk for Placenta Previa, which is a disorder of the uterus that prevents the blood from clotting when a woman gives birth. I could bleed to death. My daughter could, too. That scared the hell out of me and I got fast off my high horse and realized how blessed I was. That’s what I want to say. We’ve all got our share of issues and fears and wishes. But we’re here. Today, we’re graduating; going onto other, maybe better things. There’ll be some bad along with the good, but we’re here right now. We are unbelievably blessed. People would kill to be where we are. Listen to me, because I’m saying this and I could very well die tomorrow or two months from now, whenever she decides to make her entrance into the world. I could die, but I’m happy. And that’s the truth. Choose your moment to be joyful because that’s what you’ll remember when you’re not.” I look around and smile a mega-watt smile for the cameras. It wasn’t Shakespeare, but it got my point across. “Thank you.” My friends jump up and give me a standing ovation. Thank God I’m a friendly person. So many friends. I get hugged a lot before I can back to my seat. It’s a relief to finally sit down because my back and ankles are starting to hurt.

The Dean goes back to the podium and looks over all of us. “It has been a pleasure for me preside over all of you this last four years. It’s been an interesting ride. I know all the things that you don’t want your parents to know about.” A low, nervous chuckle spreads over the crowd. Oh, man, is he right. “I also know that you all have bright futures ahead of you. Some of your futures reside here and some in other places. Whatever comes for you, I know that you will face it with the knowledge and the wisdom of all you’ve learned here. We all wish you well. And with that, you may switch your tassels to the right sides of your caps.” We do. “Congratulations, graduates of 2003!” We immediately begin to scream with glee, tossing our caps in the air and losing them indefinitely. We jumble around one another, hugging and kissing and crying. We’re a big sweaty mess. I love it.

We make hopeless promises to keep in touch. I’ll try. I swear I will. We jostle around for another hour, exchanging number and addresses, and taking pictures. My family finds me in the malaise and we take pictures with a bunch of my friends. Before we leave, we take a picture together; Mom, Daddy, Charlie, Noah, and me. It’s a nice one. I’ll treasure it.

So, this is it. The area is starting to clear out until it’s just a few stragglers and us. This experiment is over. My little nocturnal ballerina does cartwheels inside of me and I am joyful. I choose this moment to feel joy. This has been the hardest and most trying four months of my life. I have survived by faith and love and little else. I’ve had my miracle and will live to tell about it.

But, in hindsight, that all was easy; now comes the hard part.

Labor.

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