What you Know

“Write what you know?” She studies us, her wide eyed and eager students, “Old advice and advice only for new writers, like yourselves. Think about it, if you continue to write only what you know as you develop skills, you will quickly run out of ideas. But now… for this first assignment, I what you to write what you know.”

Even though I am working on a nursing degree, this creative writing class is my favorite of the semester. Maybe it should have been a sign. At the time I thought it was just a way to relax after the more intense classes.

This first writing assignment is exciting. What do I know? What am I immersed in right now besides my other classes? It is an easy answer, my boy, my darling son Joshua.

What about him though? So many things come to mind. He has just learned to walk and is now climbing over everywhere. Talking more each day, his first word being ball, his favorite toy.

Then it hits me. His birth! Of course. Outside my salvation at age eleven, his birth was the most impactful moment in my life.

‘Joshua, Becoming a mommy ‘ I write across the top of the blank page.

My mind goes back to that day in early July, a bit over a year ago.

I start.

“We thought it would be on the fourth. The first pains start during the fireworks display. I am standing by my step dad's car as the sky lights up. As they explode overhead, my uterus tightens. How cool it would be if Hannah Liberty or Joshua Michael was born on America's birthday. It wasn't to be though. They never got routine nor strong enough not to talk though.

Being at term with a baby inside you isn't the easiest thing. You really want it out. The next five days, I will do all I can to get it out. My mom and I walked around our neighborhood several times a day. My step dad drove over railroad tracks as fast as was safe trying to jar the baby loose.

On my due date, we go swimming. Being in the water, with it helping to take some of my weight off, or at least it felt that way as I floated in the cool water that July 9th.

At first they are like they have been the last five days. But then something changes. The pain is deeper, harder, much more intense. After a half hour or so, I let my people know.

The men, my step dad and brother want to immediately head to the hospital. My mom was more practical, explaining it will take hours before that is necessary and laboring in the water is the best way to handle early labor.

An hour or so later, I was ready to get out. At home, after a warm shower, we start walking again. We walk until they are five minutes apart and then head to the hospital which is only five minutes away.

Labor is well named. It is the hardest work I have ever done. Much more than even the most detailed way it is shown on TV. You will vomit and shake. Likely to poop as the child is born unless you have been fasting. And the pain is like nothing else. Impossible to describe.

I went through pain every five, then four, then three, two, and one minute apart for fourteen hours.

Finally, the urge to push. That is what they say. It is more than an urge though. It is a necessity, something you have absolutely no control over.

When he comes, he comes fast, almost being born between the labor and delivery room. My little boy came out hair first, his dark waves the first part of him to emerge.

He came out crying but blue. A quick glance and he is moved to the nursery for tests. It freaked me out and I ordered my brother, who was barely holding himself upright after witnessing his birth, to go and make sure he was alright.

A mother's fierceness flooded me. If something was wrong with my son, I needed to know. My mom stays with me trying to reassure me.

It is only around ten minutes but felt like forever when my brother returns to report his nephew is fine. “He was just cold. I watched his little feet kicking as they got his footprint. I asked. The nurse said he was perfect. He had just been cold.”

I believed him but I only felt peace when he is laid in my arms soon after.”

We sit together in class the next week and cling to our first writing assignments. The conversation is nervous as we wait to hand them in.

“What did you write about?” Was heard around the room.

“My son.” I answer

“Wow! You have a kid?” One girl asks.

“Yes, a little guy named Joshua. I wrote about his birth.”

“I can't imagine giving birth. That must have been so hard.”

I nod with a grin. “Absolutely. The hardest thing I have ever done. But so worth it.”

We hand them in and discuss character development for the rest of the class. I am too busy, seeing to a toddler and taking my other classes, homework, nursing, diaper changes, long nights, a lot going on, to really worry about the creative writing assignment. Every once in a while, I would think about it. I would wonder what the instructor thought about it.

She hands them back and I turn it over looking down. A huge smile covers my face.

Written across the top: Excellent job! This is exactly what a personal experience paper should be. You are on the right track.

I was very happy with that. Still I stayed in the nursing program until Joshua ‘s coming brother placed me on bed rest a year later.

Thirty-fve years later, I am still writing. I never got my nursing degree.