The Rise of A Phoenix

Chapter Ten-A Mentor's Reminder and A First Meeting

These thoughts raced through my head as I started to vomit for a second time. I thought I heard someone's voice behind me. It was my writing mentor George Beckman. He'd flown in from California.

“ Oh, hello there, Professor. I'd hug you but I can't put any pressure on my lower half and if you try to hug me, I might puke on you. No, before you ask, it's not the shunt. I'm pregnant. Ha, isn't it grand? Hold on one second. Much better. Morning sickness. Ugh, I feel like hammered —. Fill in the blank.” I said this while still being bent over the basin.

“Congratulations, Pixie, my rebel darling. Where's your family? Shouldn't your mother be here celebrating the occasion?”

“If she's here, I won't see her until I head up to Ortho Rehab. No one knows I'm pregnant yet, so keep it under your hat. It's early days. I might lose the baby because of the anesthesia they had me under today.”

“Okay, first things first. You can't think that way, not now. How long have we known each other? Nine years, right? In those nine years, I've seen you fight for your English degrees, graduate college not once but twice, become the writer you're meant to be, and still keep a fighting spirit no matter what life handed you. Here, read this and see if you remember what it was.” He handed me his laptop open to the thread for the group he ran. The post was a short story I had written titled The Finishing Strokes.

“Yeah, I remember this. What's your point?”, I asked quizzically.

“Do you remember what the theme was for the evening?”

George asked.

“Yes. Regrets was the theme that Wednesday. What are you driving at?” I asked in a raised voice.

“You spoke to me before the group met that evening. I distinctly remember that conversation because you had said something about your stepmother and missing her, but not regretting who and where you were because of her mistreatment of you. Do you regret this circumstance you currently find yourself in, or is it just another reminder that you're doing everything that medical professionals said you wouldn't? That's the question you should be asking yourself right now. How's the coffee in Pennsylvania? I need coffee, and you look like you're about to vomit again. I'll be back, my rebel darling.” he said as he squeezed my hand.

As if on cue, I was doubled over, head buried in the basin.

“I already hate this, and I've only technically been a mother for a few hours, never mind the fact that this lovely future being has been growing inside me for eight weeks now. My goodness, ugh. Survival of the fittest, Pixie, survival of the fittest.,” I said the last sentence under my breath.

God bless that man. He flew here to see me, and he didn't have to. How did I get so lucky to have him as my friend and mentor?

Love you, darling Professor.

George came back with his coffee in hand and someone else was with him- his wife.

“Hello, I'm Ms. Beckman. You must be Brittany. George says you're the young buck at the table, but you write beautifully.” she said, extending her hand out for a handshake.

“It's nice to meet you, ma’am, but my hands aren't fit for shaking at the moment. Holding onto a basin while you vomit gets a little nasty. God bless the early stages of pregnancy. Excuse me, I apologize. It's honestly nice to meet you, Ms. Beckman.”

“She's a warrior, that one. I can see why you took her under your wings, George. She's graceful, poised, well-mannered and probably feisty. If her child ends up anything like her, it's going places.”, his wife said as they walked away arm in arm.

“You should read what she's written. It's extremely graceful, raw and vivid. She's talented, extremely talented. She found her gift for writing in a strange way though.” George said with a smile.

“‘How?,” his wife asked.

“That's her story to tell you, but the short version is that she's physically disabled and her hands were severely spastic when she was a child and it made her handwriting almost illegible, so she wrote poetry as practice, starting when she was ten.”

“Oh. Poor girl. My heart breaks for her.” his wife said.

“Don't let her hear you say that, but mine does too. Especially now that she's pregnant and essentially doing the full pregnancy by herself. We can't voice anything about this within her earshot though. It makes her fiercely angry. She hates it when people pity her or treat her like she's unequal to everyone else.” George whispered.

“Smooth moves, Brit, absolutely smooth. Where's my water? My kidneys are starting to hurt. Just another thing to go wrong with me right now, as if I didn't need anything more than I already have wrong. Excluding my growing child.” I muttered under my breath.

Fifteen minutes later, the medicine kicked in, and I quit vomiting.

“Finally. The only thing that even comes close to this hell is a shunt valve malfunction. Goodnight Irene! Definitely a Goodnight Irene moment here. Thank you, Professor Gary Holt. Ay.”

“Finally, I'm holding down fluids, thank God. Maybe now I'll be able to get out of here and upstairs so I can see Mom.”

As if her ears had been burning and had heard everything, my mother showed up when the nurse was about to take me to Ortho Rehab.

“Hey, Mom. How are you doing? I'm not so good. My hips are killing me. The medicine isn't working. It really hurts to sit still.”

“I know. It's going to. Especially when the meds wear off. You're going to be okay. Remember you're my daughter, Chica Girl.”

“Fat lot of good that'll do me. I hate you, Dr. Hamlin! This isn't worth it!”

“Yes, it is. You're okay. Who was the man I saw with his wife in the waiting room? Was he here to see you?”

“He's my writing mentor. His name's George Beckman. The nurse didn't tell you, did she?”

“ I saw the sonogram on the goal board. Congratulations, baby. It's the most amazing thing in the world, even when it goes wrong. If it hadn't gone the way it did, I wouldn't have you. The greatest thing in my life was having you and your brother.”

“Mom, what if the surgery I had done today causes the baby to end up like me because of the anesthesia? I can't do that to you. You deserve a healthy grandchild.”

“Don't think about that. If you do, it will take any joy you have because of the baby away. I have my joy already. My baby is going to be a mom.”

Tears fell as we hugged each other.

“I love you Mom, so much. The rest of this doesn't matter. I needed you here and you were. Thank you.”