|
Post
by:
uglygirl
member
ID 13647
Date: 09/13/2006
|
Will She Become Her Mother?
Will She Become Her Mother?
By Wendell P Scales
A short story to make you ponder the cliche, "We become that which we have experienced." Can we control what we experience?
Will She Become Her Mother?
Twenty-three years ago in a hospital nursery, I held a newborn infant in my LAP. She was a good baby, not too demanding, crying only when she was wet or hungry, and like most "little" ones, this bright-eyed baby was curious about the world she had waited 10 long months to explore.
A longtime friend of mine had given birth to this beautiful baby girl. In spite of the fact that it was a difficult delivery and that her husband was not supportive, Mother and her green-eyed newborn were both healthy and happy.
I watched as this green-eyed tiny tot negotiated the labyrinth of life, and marveled as she developed into a wonderful and beautiful woman.
Twenty-three years later, I held another little green-eyed baby girl in my LAP. It warmed my heart as she cooed and gurgled; I found myself going down memory lane. I reflected on the day, twenty-three years earlier, when I had held her mother in my LAP amidst the laughter, cries, and poopy diapers in the same hospital nursery.
Twenty-three years and six weeks later, I held the petite green-eyed female in my arms once again. This time there was no laughter. There were no poopy diapers or babies cooing. This time the crying did not come from the six-week old new born; it came from the broken, bruised, and bloody face of the green-eyed mother—the baby I held twenty-three years and six weeks ago.
As one of her doctors, I treated her for those injuries that were within my area of expertise. Afterward, I referred her to be treated for the fractured eye socket, an injury sustained as her mate’s clenched hand punched an exclamation point onto the end of this sentence, "Bitch, don't ask me where the f--k I've been all night!" She was also treated for a hematoma (a bruise that forms when blood vessels are crushed below the skin) which was sustained when his work-shoe stomped, "My Property" onto her lower back.
I walked out with her as she left my office through the back door. Was she afraid that “he” might be waiting for her in the parking lot, or was she too ashamed to face my staff? I walked back into the building, and headed for my private office. I walked into my small bathroom, closed the door, leaned back against the counter, bowed my head, and cried.
In the past, when I have treated physically abused patients, I thought I understood their circumstances. There was empathy in my heart for the pain they were experiencing, and concern for the emotional turmoil within their hearts. I contemplated the question that most abused women ask themselves at some point in their horrid relationships: "I'm not crazy, but what other reason is there for me to stay with him?" However, with this patient my reaction was different—almost frightening.
When I treated the young woman that I held as a newborn, I felt a Hulk-like rage surging through my body. When I treated the green-eyed woman that I drew stick figures for, when she was a toddler, I felt hell-bent on hurting her batterer. When treating the woman who stole my heart after executing a perfect pirouette at her first dance recital, I felt numb. When I treated the woman who graduated with honors from college, filling my chest with pride, I felt uncertain. When I treated the abused green-eyed mother that read fairy tales and sung songs to her unborn baby, do you know what I felt? I felt helpless.
Physically, she has healed. Emotionally, she is surviving, at least for the moment. However, the greatest injury of all has not been touched. How do you treat a six week-old baby’s mind? How do you get inside of this little green-eyed baby’s head, and erase the short film, "I Saw Daddy Beating Mommy"? How do you stop this feature film, which runs continuously inside the theater of her tiny subconscious mind? How do you stop this blockbuster movie from replaying the scene, which brought her father’s fist within inches of her little head? How do you suppress the scene from this movie where everything became a blur: The movie blurred when Mommy threw the little one out of harms way, just before he knocked her to the ground. How will this affect this infant’s life? How do you think this would have affected your life, if this had happened to you?
I cannot comprehend the pain this twenty-three year old woman felt on the day I treated her, or for that matter—the pain she continues to feel—she is still with him. The abused are the only ones who really understand; the rest of us are just witnesses.
There is no excuse for abuse. Domestic violence is defacing our homes, cities, states, nation, and the rest of the world. It is time for a social facelift!
This young woman is the reason I started LAPS (Loving Arms - Protection and Support) and MAD V (Men Against Domestic Violence).
Please, do whatever you can to help eradicate the heinous crime of Domestic Violence. I donate items to a local women and children's shelter, and support a counseling center for perpetrators of domestic violence. I purchase these items with a portion of my personal proceeds from 9½ Couples: Life Love Intimacy, a novel I have written. (I know this is a shameless plug for my book. However, if shameless is what I need to be in order to help those in need, then shameless is what I will be—forever.)
If you have a story to share, you need to vent, or anything else, stop by my website http://www.nineandahalfcouples.com/, and gain comfort in knowing that there are a lot of 'somebody's' in the world that care. While you are at the site, if you have the time, please take the relationship survey, check out the message boards, visit the chat room, and most importantly, sign (use an alias/pen name/A.K.A. if you are in an abusive relationship) my VIP guest book before you leave.
With hope for a better tomorrow,
Wendell
góp
ý kiến
|
:
gởi thư