And just like every single other time he has said that to me over the years, everything melted away, leaving me to peer into the eyes of a man that changed my life.
The man who made it okay to have another plan. The man who helped me emerge from darkness with an understanding of what it was like to fight together and then survive the unthinkable together.
And ultimately revel in a life we have created together.
“Mommy, can I hold Tomassino now? You promised.” Maxie squeezed in between Guy and me to get a better look at her newest brother.
“Sure, Maxie girl.”
She wiggled herself back against the oversized cushions and made the perfect cradling position with her arms. Once Tommy was settled, she snuggled him close to her chest and cooed, kissing his forehead. And because my other two boys were Maxie magnets, they flanked each arm, not wanting to miss a thing. Guy wrapped his arm around my waist, and we proudly watched on.
Breathing in a lungful of fresh air, I let the beauty of the day consume me. Surrounded by my family and friends. My soulmate. My four precious gems.
There was nothing more beautiful.
An image burned in my brain for eternity.
I looked behind me, through the crystal clear sliding glass doors, to get a glimpse of our den fireplace. Most families hung oversized flat screen televisions above their mantels. We weren’t most families. That wall space was adorned with pictures of our life, our family, us.
Flanking both sides of the massive collage were matching silver frames. Guy had surprised me by reframing Gemma’s picture, beautifully engraved with our version of I love you. He said he did it not only for me, but also for the children, wanting to remind them daily that they had a sister who they never had a chance to know and who loved them from afar. That very same day I bought the matching frame, had it inscribed, and hung Brittany’s picture to mirror my baby girl’s.
My stitched heart overflowed with hope. I released my breath and shifted my gaze to above. A spectacular shade of blue filled my vision. A cloudless sapphire sky perfectly clear and radiant. I momentarily seeped into the stillness and opened my heart to the heavens and silently prayed to the mother of my oldest children.
I promise to cherish and love your babies unconditionally, as my own, for all my days and beyond. And may you forever love and watch over my precious angel.
Who loves you, my beautiful, sweet baby girl? Until we meet again.
The End
While Sudden Infant Death Syndrome (SIDS) and Munchausen by Proxy (MBP) are very different entities, they are both heartbreaking tragedies that thousands of families worldwide face yearly. Going into this project, we knew we needed to handle these sensitive topics with care. And we felt that while working within the confines of a fictitious narrative it was important to convey relevant information about the disease process so you, as a reader, reached a comfortable understanding.
Of the two, SIDS is more well-known and every parent’s worst nightmare. It is the sudden death of an infant less than one year and it is considered a diagnosis of exclusion only after a thorough non-conclusive investigation.
Sudden Unexpected Infant Death (SUID) is a diagnosis that more recently has been used to encompass, not only SIDS, but also accidental suffocation and unknown causes (sudden death without thorough investigation). According to the Center for Disease Control, SUID accounts for 3,500 US infant deaths annually.
As mothers, Jules’ story was difficult to write because we couldn’t help but step in her shoes. Empathy is not a strong enough word for what we feel for anyone who has ever experienced this devastation. Our hearts truly break for you.
Unlike SIDS, MBP is not as readily known. It is classified as a psychological disorder, but make no mistake it is also a form of horrific abuse.
When writing the chapter from Maya’s POV, we spent countless hours discussing, researching and reading articles revolving around the abstract nuisances related to this disorder. The complexities are challenging to fully grasp. We were tempted at first to make Maya’s character sound straight up “crazy” and dramatically admit to the abuse she was causing. But that is not the personality of a MBP sufferer. Their profiles depict them as loving and dedicated caregivers, who are often well-versed in medicine, and if witnessed (typically by video) inflicting harm on their victims, they are calm and collected. Our hopes were to portray Maya as accurately as possible in this role.
The most disturbing part of MBP sufferers, aside from most often being mothers, is that they are fully aware of their harmful behaviors but are reluctant to ever openly acknowledge them, making it one of the most difficult disorders to diagnose. And because of this delay, it can often claim the lives of the children that fall victim to it.
Fortunately, our fictional mini-hero, Finn, was one of the lucky ones. He survived this potentially deadly disorder.
For more information on Munchausen by Proxy (MBP) or Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy (MSBP):
https://www.nlm.nih.gov/medlineplus/ency/article/001555.htm
http://munchausen.com/index.php/munchausen-by-proxy/
https://www.childwelfare.gov/topics/can/perpetrators/perp-munchausen/
http://pediatrics.aappublications.org/content/119/5/1026
For more information on Sudden Unexpected Infant Death (SUID) and SIDS:
http://www.cdc.gov/sids/
http://kidshealth.org/parent/general/sleep/sids.html
http://www.sidsresources.org
http://sidsamerica.org/
Book three … how crazy is that? This was a story years in the making, bouncing around in our minds fully written, but somehow that pesky little business of sitting down and executing always seems to take us forever. But we did it (Pheww). And we couldn’t be happier with the way it turned out!! Hope it was worth the wait!!!
Every project takes a village and we couldn’t have done it without the help and encouragement of so many. First and foremost, our supporters. You took a gamble on us with Beautifully Awake and you haven’t left our sides since. Thank you for giving us a reason to keep writing and for bringing our stories to life. Without you reading, reviewing and sharing ours with the world, no one would even know they exist. Thank you doesn’t do it justice. We love you all to the moon and back!
To our editor Lori … thank you for not missing a thing! Not a comma, not a quotation mark and especially not our brutal disregard for homonyms. Most importantly, thank you for somehow always knowing what we meant to say! We love you!
To Sarah Hansen for our unbelievably gorgeous cover! You took our vision and ran with it and we love it to pieces.
To our formatter Emily for always beautifying. Oh how we look forward to waking up to your middle of the night emails.
To our betas … Michelle, Christie, Jill, Sarah, Tosha, Dawnita and Rebecca, you are all so generous with your time. Your encouragement and feedback only makes our stories better!
To our families … you mean the world to us! Always and forever. Who loves ya?
And finally to our readers … with the plethora of books at your fingertips, we are humbled you chose ours! We write with you in mind - telling our stories how we imagine you want to hear them. Thank you for the inspiration.
We would LOVE to hear from you!! And we pinky swear to answer every email, post, tweet and message personally!
Find us on our website, like us on Facebook, follow us on Twitter and Instagram. Check out our inspirations on Pinterest. And pretty please leave a review on Goodreads, Amazon or your place of sale … your thoughts are the icing on the cake!
xo,
RM
It was eerily quiet in the room. Only the rhythmic sound of the heart monitor interrupted the silence. This was how it was supposed to be. Not like the last time. The sounds from last time haunted me every day and night. A wave of nausea rolled through me. I gripped my stomach. I was going to be sick.
How did I let this happen?
I stood and stared motionlessly at the already lif
eless body in the bed. Time stood still. It could have been minutes or hours, I had no clue. No one came in. I wanted to yell and scream. I wanted to break down and sob. I wanted to talk and explain. But it was too late. All of it.
Instead I hummed our favorite song. Music was our happy place.
Finally I reached out and brushed the hair from those familiar eyes, the mirror reflection of my own. You were awake. Your eyes were open. But the light was gone. There was nothing but darkness. Three years of complete emptiness.
It was time to close your eyes.
The sound of Katy Perry coming from the bedside table started getting louder and louder. Okay, I’m wide awake. 5:30 AM. Shit.
I slapped the oversized snooze button for the second time and kicked the light cream-colored sheet off my bare legs. The back of my sleeveless tank was damp with sweat. July was ridiculously hot.
Rubbing the sleep from my burning eyes, I blindly reached for my glasses on the nightstand. I needed to stop being a wimp and get the damn Lasik already.
Small clips from last night’s dream teased their way into my mind while I stretched my limbs. Tall grass-covered dunes, sea glass. It was a beach dream. Those were never bad. Why was it I never remembered the good dreams, and if I did, the details were etched in pencil. Easy to fade, easy to erase, while those other dreams were engraved in permanent black Sharpie.
The beach sounded like a fan-freakin-tastic idea. Anything was better than work today. Neurosurgery. Were we really talking brain surgery, why not just send my ass to NASA for the next month?
“Just get your butt out of bed and get it over with already.” I sighed my monthly mantra. So now I talked out loud to myself. Charming. I hated pretending I had the first clue what the surgery “team” was talking about on rounds. Being out of my element sucked. I scrunched my nose and mashed the pillow down over my face. The sun was barely up, and I already wanted the day to be over.
New service, new residents, new intern and a brand new attending. Still, nothing could be worse than the month I spent on the cardiac service. That attending was awful. Sounded harsh, but it was true. He was rude and inconsiderate, not to mention lacking any social graces whatsoever. And if I had to bear witness to pompous adults throwing temper tantrums, I could have done without a southern twang. It was kind of ironic if you thought about it, a heart surgeon without a heart. This one had to be a little better; rumor had it he was from NYC. That was already an improvement.
Philadelphia Hospital had more than its fair share of arrogant surgeons to go around and did not need another. I had the pleasure of being tortured on most of their services for the past two years, somehow escaping neuro until now.
Pediatrics was the exception, of course. My exception. It’s why I moved here and took this job. At least that was my story, even if it was a lie. I was hired to be case manager for the pediatric surgery service, and I dedicated every free second to the position when I first moved here. Case manager was a far cry from social worker, but I still got to work with needy kids. And because of that, my first year was fine. Not stellar, not dream job status, but doable.
All I ever wanted to do was work with the kids and their families. People who gravitated toward peds were pretty even-tempered, even the surgeons. Everyone’s focus was the kid’s well being. All the other bull was moot. And although I didn’t make as much of a difference as I would have liked, it was a safe place to channel my energy.
Then the hospital fell off some fiscal cliff and all the case managers needed to take turns rotating on the different surgery services. Two years later, the so-called reallocation of resources had zero effect on the hospital deficit, but had a seriously detrimental effect on my irritable bowel.
“Okay, okay. I’m going,” I huffed at myself. Good thing I lived alone.
Ten minutes later, showered, with contacts in, I stood in front of my bedroom closet. Correction. My bedroom/living room/ dining room closet. My studio was on the smaller side, all five hundred square feet, but it was all mine.
The daily routine of picking out work clothes bored the heck out of me, so a light blue fitted blouse with my staple above the knee black pencil skirt was easy. I wore it entirely too often, but hopefully no one noticed. The rest of the team couldn’t care less, rolled out of bed, skipped the shower, and showed up in glorified pajamas. So why did I care? It’s not like I wanted to impress anyone.
My reflection bounced off the full-length mirror. The changes were subtle, but they were there. Still five-six, but three years of building a new life recharged my confidence. I stood a little taller. My size four frame looked less skinny and a little more toned, thanks to my new therapist—running.
It didn’t really matter because it was all about the shoes. A strange guilty pleasure for a girl from bumble fuck where UGGS and flip-flops defined footwear. I slipped on my favorite black patent leather peep toe pumps and cracked a half smile. They might not be designer shoes, but they looked good to me. It was my only real vice.
I ran a quick brush through my hair, not that it mattered much, since my loose dark brown curls would be up in a messy ponytail by lunch. I was predictable.
Mascara and chapstick. Good enough. I repeated my mantra: just get it over with.
“Mornin’, Miss Lili. Happy New Year, sunshine!”
“Good morning, Jorge. Aren’t you a comedian! How’s your family?” I asked, returning my friend’s infectious smile.
Anyone who had any connection, even remote, to medicine knew the significance of July first. Philly had a hospital every few hundred feet, so even my trusted elderly barista who owned the most delicious coffee cart in all of Center City was astutely aware.
He was right for all intents and purposes; it was a new year. Residents all moved up a year in training, but unfortunately their egos increased exponentially overnight. July also welcomed brand new interns to the floors. Medical student one day, doctor the next. Frightening. NEVER get sick in July.
“What can I getcha, sunshine? Usual?”
“I think I’ll pass on the latte, but it’s Wednesday, so I’ll take two of those delicious apple scones if you have them.”
Caffeine and nervous stomach was an ugly mix. I didn’t need anything fueling the rumble down below. Some people manifested stress with a simple pimple. Not me.
On the bright side, I saved three bucks. Cha-ching. If I had a sexy shoe jar, I only needed two hundred more days like today and I might have gotten the nerve to actually try on a pair. How was that for glass half full…
“Anything for Miss Lili. You tell me if those kidza misbehave. I fix ‘em good!”
I’m not sure what I loved more, Jorge’s Spanglish or that he blew me a kiss every day.
Coffee-less, I crossed the street, zig-zagging between the half dozen cars lined up in front of the hospital parking garage. You could set your watch by hospital shift changes. From outside, it looked like a hockey line switch. Fast and precise, without game interruption. It was just missing sex on skates.
If I weren’t OCD about being on time, I would have dilly-dallied a little longer. It was seriously gorgeous out—one of those days when the sky was so crystal clear it looked fake, and the air was so crisp you wished you could bottle it. I couldn’t fill my lungs enough. It was a perfect beach day. But not today. Today duty called. I headbanded my hair with my wide framed sunglasses and pushed through the revolving doors. The hospital was already buzzing, and it was obscenely early.
My vibrating side interrupted my autopilot trek toward the elevators. I reached into the depths of a seriously oversized bag to find the damn thing.
“Hey, everything okay?” I finally answered.
“Hey, Asspuck. How’s it going so far? Did you meet him yet?”
“Sierra, are you for real? Why are you awake and what possessed you to call me so early?” My best friend didn’t do early—EVER. Uneasiness settled in the pit of my stomach. “Everything okay with the baby?”
“Don’t worry, the baby’s totall
y fine, kicking the crap out of me and wreaking havoc on my body, but great. Lil, you need to see my boobs, they’re like a road map with green lines everywhere ... and you’re gonna love this-”
“Um, Sier? I’m at work, can this wait?” I tried to whisper since there was a cluster of people waiting with me at the elevator.
“A hemorrhoid. A. Fucking. Hemorrhoid.” She had no shame. “It’s so disgusting. Don’t get me wrong, I love being pregnant, and I knew my body would take a serious hit, but I never expected a baboon ass.”
I sucked back the snort that threatened to escape from my nose while I pushed the button for my floor.
“You’re a freak!” That was an understatement. And why I loved her. All five feet of her. Sierra had more personality in her left calf than anyone I’d ever met and was not afraid to show it. If she were any taller, it wouldn’t be fair to the female race. Slim but blessed with top curves and Neutrogena fair skin.
“Are you really calling me at the crack of dawn to tell me about this little discovery? Where’s Dodd? Shouldn’t you be sharing your woes of pregnancy with that hunky husband of-”
“Umm, who do you think found it? I sure as fuck wasn’t the one down there investigating.”
Too much information.
“Gross. My eyes hurt. I could’ve done without that visual.” I chuckled so hard I didn’t have a prayer of holding back a snort this time. So much for being discreet on a crowded elevator.
Sierra was beyond comfortable talking about all things sex, and if there was a gene responsible for embarrassment, she was congenitally deficient. No detail was too personal. For as cosmopolitan as she played it, Sierra was blessed with diarrhea of the mouth within her intimate circle. A circle that started and ended with me since we were seven years old.
Abruption Page 26
