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A note about this story:

        This story is an allegory written by our daughter Jill for a college class.  An allegory is a  symbolical, fictional story based on true circumstances or people.  We had two children born with Werdnig-Hoffman disease.  Karla, our second born lived 5 months and Greg, our fourth child, lived 7 months.  The happenings in this story are true but she wrapped up the events into one child.  Jill and Obe's first child is named after our Karla.

Healing

By: Jill Hertzler

Tricia lay awake at night with the question haunting her. Would she or wouldn’t she be healthy? Glancing over at her snoring husband, she wondered if he ever doubted. With a sigh, she fluffed her pillow and pulled the covers up to her chin. She gave up trying to sleep and allowed her mind to wander back twenty-two years ago.

             Karla was beautiful. Everyone said so. She had the large dark eyes of her father and dark, dark brown hair, lots of it. She was the exact opposite of her hyperactive two-year old brother, Keith, who was born bald and later became a curly towhead. He never stopped moving from the day he was born, but Karla was different. She was the most contented baby you could ever hope for. She never cried, but her solemn eyes followed  every move around her. She was so beautiful.

Tricia rolled over onto her stomach and tried to push the images back. I’ve got to stop worrying and sleep. I won’t be worth anything tomorrow if I don’t! It was going to be a long night, and she knew it.

 The next day found Tricia in the laundry room of the old farmhouse stripping the peeling paint from an antique rocking chair. It was a small one, built especially for women with short legs. Fifteen small spindles filled in the backrest, creating a natural massage. Sanding the small spindles was time consuming but she knew the results would be worth the effort. Why in the world did I ever paint this thing? Natural wood finish is much prettier. Methodically she rubbed the coarse sandpaper up and down, up and down. She swallowed hard as tears filled her eyes. Her arms began to ache, but not from her labor. She knew in her heart; she yearned for the soft bundle of her lost baby. This chair had been for Karla. I never did get to spend much time rocking her in it. She was just so peaceful and Keith demanded so much of my time. I wanted to hold her; I just didn’t have the time. Blinking hard, Tricia shook her head to clear her thoughts. The phone rang bringing her quickly to her feet. Rushing over to the table, she glanced at the caller ID. “598-7619” was flashing on the screen. Snatching the phone, Tricia didn’t bother saying hello. “Is it time?”

                “Not yet,” Vivian laughed at the overanxious Grandma-to-be. “I was making chocolate chip cookies. Want some?”

                “What are you doing baking cookies?” I didn’t feel like moving the last week before Keith was born. Now his wife was baking cookies the day the baby was due?

                “I got restless,” Vivian said innocently. “I’ll bring you some.”

                “I’ll come over.”

                “No, I’m perfectly capable of walking. See ya in a few.”

Tricia sat listening to the dial tone, phone in hand. That girl never stops moving either. She’s good for Keith. Tricia settled the phone back into its cradle and stood up. “Now, what was I doing?” she muttered to herself. Oh yes, the chair.

Five minutes later, Vivian let herself in through the back door. “Knock, knock!” she called out. She set the plate of chocolate chip cookies on the washing machine and turned to inspect Tricia’s work. “The rocker is looking great.”

“I want to have it done before the baby comes.”

“Well, you’ll have to hurry. I don’t think it’ll be long.”

Tricia studied Vivian’s face, searching for signs of pain. “Is Keith going to sit with you?”

“You better believe it! He didn’t want to but I told him, ‘You were there when it started you can be there when it’s over!’”

Tricia smiled at that. It was good Vivian could boss Keith around. Someone needed to. “He’ll be glad he’s there once it’s over. Will you call me when it starts?”

“Even if it’s the middle of the night?”

“Yes.”

“You won’t be able to sleep then.”

“I’d like to know.” Tricia said simply.

“Okay, Grandma,” Vivian teased, “We’ll call.”

                 That night, Tricia took the phone to bed with her. She was NOT going to miss this call. Her husband, Ryan, grumbled a little at the idea. “What are you going to do if she does call? It’ll just keep you up all night.”

                “I gotta know.”

                “I ought to turn the ringer off,” Ryan threatened.

                Tricia smiled to herself. He wouldn’t dare. He wants to know just as much as I do. He just couldn’t admit it, but when that baby comes, he’ll be there to hold her. Just like he did before, with Keith and then Karla.  Despite his gruff appearance, he was so gentle with babies. In fact, he was the one holding Karla when she died. Tricia’s mind raced back in time once more.

***

                After a month in the hospital with pneumonia, they had decided to take her home. There was nothing more the doctors could do for her. She was weak and fragile, her lungs filled with fluid. They knew her time was near. It was one of the toughest decisions they had to make with Karla. Five short weeks before they had taken their precious two-week-old in to the doctor for a routine check up. Tricia answered all the questions the doctor answered with enthusiasm. Yes, Karla’s doing fine. She’s sleeping through the night. She’s not a bit of a problem, such a joy to have around. Yes, she’s taking the formula--no reactions there. She’s not really moving much yet, but I’m sure that will come. She doesn’t even seem to mind booties. She never kicks them off. Tricia didn’t notice that the doctor’s frown was growing. Nor did she suspect anything when he decided to do a second examination. She thought the blood test was routine. That’s why she was so stunned when the call came two days later. The words were forever impacted on her memory.

                “Tricia, I need to talk to you about Karla.”

                “Um, okay.”

                “I’d like you to take her to the Medical College Hospital. I’d like to run a few more tests. I’m concerned about her.”  The tests proved the doctor’s prognosis correct. Karla had a genetic disease. A fatal genetic disease. Their precious, dark haired, solemn eyed sweetheart would never reach her first birthday. The young couple listened in stunned silence while the doctor tried to explain the details.

                “Karla has Werdnig-Hoffman’s disease. She has the most severe kind which means she won’t suffer long. It affects her muscles, and that’s why she doesn’t support her own head or kick her feet. You’ll see her stop using her muscles altogether. When the lungs and heart fail, she’ll slip away. Often times, Werdnig-Hoffman patients die of pneumonia first, though.”

                The rest of his words were lost on Tricia as she focused on the tiny bundle in her arms. She’ll never have a birthday, never go to school, and never get married. She’ll never walk, sit up, or even kick her feet. A quick thought brought a jolt of panic.

                “What about Keith?”

                “We can test him, but there’s nothing to fear. This disease shows up within the first few months,” he reassured her.

                Tricia looked over at her husband. Ryan sat with his head resting on one arm, the other hand clenching and unclenching in his lap. There was nothing either of them could do.

                Br-ring, br-ring! Tricia sat straight up in bed, heart racing. She reached out towards the nightstand, searching for the phone. In her haste, she only succeeded in knocking it onto the floor. Clicking the lamp on, she swung her feet to the floor and retrieved the cordless handset. “Hello?” Pause. “Hello, Vivian?” The only response was the dial tone. Turning to face Ryan she said, “There’s no one there. Do you think it was them?” 

                “I don’t think so. It only rang three times.” He rose and crossed to the window to peek through the blinds. Studying the dark house across the driveway, he replied, “It must have been a wrong number. There aren’t any lights on.”

                They settled back in bed, flicking the light off. The glowing numbers on the alarm clock read 2:47. Tricia was sure she wouldn’t sleep again, but before the cuckoo clock in the family room announced the hour, her troubled mind drifted back.

***

                Early one Sunday morning, they knew Karla’s time was almost up. Friday night they had brought her home. They wanted her to die at home, surrounded by her family instead of in a medical institution swallowed by an incubator. Her fragile body had fought the pneumonia as best it could, but the disease was taking its toll, destroying her muscles and strength. Karla was limp from the neck down; she barely had the strength left to grip her father’s finger in her tiny palm.

***

                When Tricia awoke from a fitful sleep that Sunday morning, Karla’s breaths were coming few and far between. Karla fought for each one, the rasping sound piercing her mother’s heart. Ryan called the grandparents and the pastor. Then he held his tiny daughter in his arms and rocked her. Tricia sat by his knee and they talked to Karla. They told her they loved her, stroked her head, and squeezed her little fist. Back and forth, Ryan rocked. They would hold their breath, waiting for Karla to breathe, sure each breath would be her last. Karla held on until the grandparents arrived. They said their goodbyes to her, then held Keith on their laps, taking turns reading him stories and trying to answer his questions about why Mommy and Daddy were crying. Finally, at 9:48 a.m. Karla slipped away. Ryan just kept rocking. Cheeks damp, he looked at his wife. Their little girl was gone.

***

                Tricia awoke to a soggy pillow. Her dream had been so vivid. She felt exhausted from the emotional turmoil of reliving the past. She stumbled out to the kitchen, passing her sleeping husband on the way. He was stretched out on the sofa. Apparently he hadn’t been able to sleep well either. Just then, the phone rang. “Mom, we’re headed for the hospital,” came Keith’s voice. “Vivian went into labor last night about three. She says she’s ready now.” Tricia bit her lip to stay calm.

                “Okay, keep us posted.”

                “Yeah.” Click. It’s going to be a long day. She glanced through the open door at the rocker half-finished. She knew what she had to do.

                ***

When Ryan came in from the barn at six-thirty that evening, Tricia was sitting at the kitchen table tearing a tissue into miniscule pieces. He stood by the door, his hand on the doorknob. A full minute of silence passed before either of them spoke. “I--I finished staining the rocker today.”

Ryan glanced over at the rocker. He swallowed hard. “It looks good.”

Tricia turned and stared at him as her thoughts tripped over each other in her mind. It’s Karla’s rocker. But that’s okay, Vivian needs it now. He didn’t like it when I  pulled the thing down from the attic. It has been hard for both of us. A small sigh escaped her. Their eyes met in mutual understanding. Ryan stepped back, pulling the door wide open. Tricia deliberately stood and picked up the torn shreds of tissue. She balled them all into her fist. Stepping over to the waste can, she released them and watched the lightweight material flutter on top of used sandpaper, old newspaper and an empty can of stain. She straightened her shoulders. Ryan reached over and tipped her chin. “Let’s go.”

Together, Ryan and Tricia carried the newly finished rocker across the yard to their son’s home. Ryan paused at the door while Tricia found the key under the clay pot of pansies on the porch. Methodically, she pulled back the screen door, turned back the deadbolt and replaced the key. They entered the quiet stillness almost cautiously. Down the hallway they went, each step taken in silence. They set the rocker in the corner of the nursery and stepped back. Ryan reached out to straighten it. Tricia picked up a teddy bear from his perch on top of the baby wipes on the child-size dresser. Smoothing the fuzzy hair from his eyes, she fingered his ears. She sank into the rocker and let her eyes roam around the room. White crib, crocheted afghan, pale green booties, stacks of diapers. The room smelled faintly of fresh paint, baby powder and now stain. Pulling the teddy bear close she whispered, “I miss you, Karla,” and began to rock. Ryan watched the peace settle over her face. Her eyes relaxed and a small smile pulled the corners of her mouth up. He reached out his hand to her. Tricia placed a kiss on the teddy bear’s forehead and settled him back on the baby wipes. Then she stood and took her husband’s hand. “Well, Grandpa, they’re waiting for us at the hospital.”

***

                The new grandma settled into the hospital rocking chair in the birthing room and

reached out her arms to accept her grandchild from Keith. “Her name’s Emily. Emily Nicole.” With Ryan looking on, Tricia crooned and cuddled the eight pound red-faced infant.

                “Bigger than any of my babies,” she said. “What did you think, Keith?”

                “I’m just glad I’m not the one who had to go through all that, or that’d be the last one. Viv’s incredible, that’s all I’ve got to say.”

 ***

                Finally, unable to resist any longer, she pulled back the blankets to inspect Emily’s feet. Emily puckered her tiny mouth, waving a fist and kicking her feet against the cool air. “Look at those feet,” murmured Tricia. “Just look at those feet.”

She looked up at Ryan and they both smiled. Her heart skipped a beat as she saw dampness at the corner of his eyes. Emily let out a cry and kicked again, bringing their focus back to her. Her fist curled around Tricia’s finger and she peeked out at the new world with dark blue eyes.