The Runtyun

She was born the same month that I was, forty years later though. When the excitement of the birth was over and the baby was clean and wrapped up in her birthing cloths, when I stopped feeling woozy and found a certain control over my emotions. The nurse handed me the cooing little bundle–my daughter.

She was warm in my arms. All I could see were her eyes, they were so big. I know that at only a few minutes of age there is not very much for a baby to reference, yet she looked straight at me and she had me. At the time I did not know the adventures that I would go through as a father. The things I would endure as a parent and man. At the time all I saw were eyes and a bright red pudgy face and a little bubble of saliva at the corner of her mouth.

I put her down on the birthing table and just stared. What had I done? This little creature, perfect with ten toes and ten fingers, one little head that looked too big for that little body. What had I done? I put my hand out to her to see what she would do. Nothing. I guess she could not see–being only few minutes old. My finger brushed her hand, she did not jump, but reached out and gripped my finger. She was strong!

She would have to be strong coming into the life I was involved in. We went through a few struggles before getting to the somewhat stable life we live now. During her toddler years she was very out going. Her smile in the morning was brighter than the sun at sunrise. It carried me through some of my darkest days.

Now she is so wise, yet strangely naive. She can understand things beyond her years, yet in another minute ask a question so innocent that I can only wonder. The Runtyun is growing into a fine person despite my parenting skills.

I have stumbled through this whole parenting experiment and you know what? She is doing pretty well despite me.


Monday, January 27, 2014

Pregnancy and the Dead



A few days ago I was preparing supper and as usual, I had the radio on NPR, a story came up about a mother who was pregnant in Texas. She is brain dead. The hospital says it cannot remove the woman from of their machines because of her pregnancy. A couple links: http://www.usatoday.com/story/news/nation/2014/01/24/munoz-pregnant-brain-dead-life-support/4839839/  http://www.theguardian.com/world/2014/jan/24/texas-judge-hospital-life-support-brain-dead-pregnant-woman

The story must have caught The Runtyun's attention because she wondered into the kitchen and hovered around not saying anything. I thought, "Wow, we might get some time together without T.V. or other distractions.” So I went over to the radio and started to turn it off.

"What are you doing? I'm listening to that." So much for talk time, but I thought maybe this could be OK too.

We listened to the story, what a sad past two months this guy and his family has had. His wife, Marlise Munoz, his name is Erick, was laying on the floor unconscious for an unknown amount of time when he found her at 3:00 or 4:00 A.M.. She is pregnant, so because of the lack of oxygen the fetus too, is in danger. 

She was deeply engrossed in the story. This behavior from the Runtyun is unusual and I thought maybe we could learn something from this sad tale. So I broached the topic before she could escape back to her enclave, also known as her room.

"What do you think about that?" I asked.

"It's so sad."

"How so," I asked hoping we could have a little talk and maybe I could begin to see how she feels about morality and stuff.

Silence.

She began to back out of the kitchen, but I caught her with, "What do you mean sad? Is it because she is not responsive? Or, that she is pregnant?"

She looked at me and I knew she did not know how to put her thoughts into words, so I prodded a little. "You know it must be really difficult for her husband. I can't imagine what the guy must be going through in his head. He knows she is dead, yet he has to watch her in that hospital room."

She still could not say anything.

Finally I said, "What do you think they should do?"

"Let her go. She’s dead, the baby probably will not make it and her family is suffering because the hospital is too scarred to do anything," she said with passion.

A couple days went by and every time the story came up, I noticed that her ears perked. She listened to it. I was distracted by something else, but asked a little while later what was happening. The Runtyun said no, clearly disturbed by the story. “Why can’t they just let her go. She is already dead in her brain, the baby will come out badly handicapped and the family will have to deal with that pain.”

"Not to mention the pain of having lost his wife and being reminded of her every time he looks at the baby,” I added.

Over NPR, we got word the Texas courts declared the woman dead and the hospital was ordered to take her off the ventilators. Finally the family could start to mend. I actually felt a weight slip off my shoulders. I went to The Runtyun’s enclave, also known as her room, and informed her of the latest detail.

I was not surprised to see a big sigh of relief. She mouthed, “Thank God.” I saw she was really concerned for the woman and her surviving family.

I asked her how she felt, and she asked, “Why did it take so long?”

I tried to explain about the sanctity of life and that some feel that no matter what science and tests say, they feel every fetus deserves a chance at life. I told her that there are those who believe so profoundly that every pregnancy should go to term no matter what the circumstances or consequences that nothing else mattered. Some feel it is a mandate from God this should happen. While others use the law to force it. 

“But what about the family? Don’t they have a say?”

“The law is the law,” I said, playing the devil’s advocate. 

I wish I could say we went into a profound conversation about religion and how some use it and the law to manipulate how others think and act, but we started to talk about something else, and I felt it best to let it go for now. I know this subject will bounce around her brain for a while and maybe she will be able and trusting enough to talk with me. Mostly though, I hope I can give the moral guidance she will be looking for.


olc

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