After submitting my rough draft essay to my instructor she sent out an Announcement to the entire class that I find to be cruel and demeaning. Perhaps I am being overly sensitive. Ie am not sure. I do know that after 24 hours I am still on the verge of tears. I followed the directions and wrote a personal narrative of my choosing highlight my horrific amniocentesis and refusal to have a spinal block before my c-section. My life is quite boring, so I wanted the paper to be somewhat exciting. I am reeling and confused. I don't think that many people will understand my frustration. I do believe that the posters of this forum though will be able to give me the subjective feed back that I need. If I am making to much of this situation, please tell me.
Below you will find my rough draft essay and the instructors announcement to the class.
My essay:
Rough and Tumble
Rare are the mornings that my rambunctious son fails to utter my first name as he slowly tumbles out of sleep each and every morning. “Pia, Pia…..P…….iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiia”, he croons before his eyes ever open. “Yogurt mommie, I want yogurt.” My days begin with a sweet hug and the slightly sour smell of Horizon Organic Yogurt, both, staples in our household. I reach down to scoop him into my arms, and hold him close before he wiggles down my body and scampers away to awaken his father. My days are filled with sticky hugs, but rarely am I ever granted the opportunity to snuggle with my son for longer than 10 seconds. Even when asleep he rolls away from my embrace and sleeps spread eagle in the middle of the bed. His independence gladdens and frightens me. I am proud not to have a clingy tot who is glued to my side 24 hours a day, but I would like to hold him near me to cuddle and love on a daily basis. It is generally during times like these that I long to have another tiny baby to hold and adore I am quite sure that I am ready to bring another life into this world until I recall the un-pleasantries of being pregnant and my less than natural birth experience. The pain and the agony are all too fresh in my mind, perhaps time will lessen the memory of the torture that I experienced due to my son’s birth.
“Well, do you not want to have this baby?” Dr Wyant asked from behind his surgical mask. I cannot recall my word for word answer, but it was clearly no. Just as I poised myself to jump off of the operating table the doctor demanded that a nurse bring my anxious husband into the operating room. “Your wife”, the doctor stated, “does not want to have a spinal block.” “Would you eagerly allow anyone to stick a foot long needle into your spinal cavity?” I questioned. Unwilling to argue with a near delirious pregnant woman Dr. Wyant turned to speak with the other doctor in the waiting room before asking me if I would allow them to sedate me before administering the spinal block. I agreed on the condition that I would feel no pain. Within minutes my body fell limp and I was rolled onto my side. “Liar, you liar,” I screamed or I think that I screamed as the needle plunged through layers of muscle, tissue and other matter before penetrating my spinal cavity. As I lay strapped to the table, I prayed that the worst was over. Eight months into my pregnancy I was tired, irritable and no longer willing to have my body pierced by needles. Just twenty four hours earlier I proclaimed in loud agonizing sobs that I did not want to have any more babies as an amniocentesis was performed to test the viability of my unborn son’s lungs. The two minute procedure rendered the term cruel and unusual obsolete. The injection site stung even once I returned home after the baby’s birth.
The clock on the wall behind me ticked each second as my husband stood next to me peering over the curtain that shielded my eyes from witnessing the baby’s birth. Though I could feel no pain, I felt the tugging and pushing sensation from the doctor’s hands as he cut into my stomach and through my placenta in order to pull Andrew Nathaniel Davis from my womb. My belligerent placenta was the cause of all my misery. Instead of implanting itself away from my cervix, it chose to take root and flourish over the exit route that babies are supposed to take. I was forced to abandon the natural vaginal birth that I so desired. Not to save my son’s life, but to spare my own. With each passing minute the tugging became more intense. I knew that his birth was imminent. “He is coming, he is coming!!” I whispered to my husband as Andrew was yanked from my body and presented to the world. My head rolled to the right, and from the operating table I watched the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit team assess my newborn son for signs of breathing trouble and the million other maladies that plague pre-term infants. My healthy six pound, thirteen ounce, eighteen inch long, five week premature son was swaddled and placed in my arms for me to inspect as the doctors stapled my stomach shut. Andrew was and forever will be the most beautiful newborn ever. From the top of his head that was covered with silky straight black hair to the tip of his tiny sweet toes, Andrew was just perfectly scrumptious. Unlike most mothers, I can’t say that we fell in love with one another as we gazed into each other’s eyes. My infant son and I bonded months before he made his official entrance into the world. “Mrs. Davis…….Mrs. Davis”, a nurse questioned, “The baby can’t be carried out of the operating room. We can place him between your legs, or you may hold him. Which do you prefer”? Staring into Andrew’s black eyes, “I will hold him”, I cooed and mentally prepared my weak body to keep my arms taut as we glided back to my Labor and Delivery suite.
The four days that I spent learning and loving my son at Kennestone Hospital in Marietta, GA are looked back upon with a halcyon sweetness that is bittersweet. Andrew is no longer a newborn. He is a rough and tumble 21 month old with a broad vocabulary and a sweet smile. However I miss and even long for those briefly few days that I could hold him in my arms and love him without the worry of work or dishes or the general interruptions of life. From my fourth floor window, I looked out onto of the most beautiful metropolitan area in the Unites States and all that I saw were green hills that stretched to the horizon. His sweet baby breath and his tiny cries served only to reinforce my already full grown love for my sweet baby boy. We were in perfect peace.
The instructor's announcement:
Deleted for copyright infringement.
Thank you for reading this far. Please submit any and all feedback. It is valued.
Yes I know that the essay is not the best, but it is my first draft. She requires complete rewrites so I never submit my best work.
Below you will find my rough draft essay and the instructors announcement to the class.
My essay:
Rough and Tumble
Rare are the mornings that my rambunctious son fails to utter my first name as he slowly tumbles out of sleep each and every morning. “Pia, Pia…..P…….iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiia”, he croons before his eyes ever open. “Yogurt mommie, I want yogurt.” My days begin with a sweet hug and the slightly sour smell of Horizon Organic Yogurt, both, staples in our household. I reach down to scoop him into my arms, and hold him close before he wiggles down my body and scampers away to awaken his father. My days are filled with sticky hugs, but rarely am I ever granted the opportunity to snuggle with my son for longer than 10 seconds. Even when asleep he rolls away from my embrace and sleeps spread eagle in the middle of the bed. His independence gladdens and frightens me. I am proud not to have a clingy tot who is glued to my side 24 hours a day, but I would like to hold him near me to cuddle and love on a daily basis. It is generally during times like these that I long to have another tiny baby to hold and adore I am quite sure that I am ready to bring another life into this world until I recall the un-pleasantries of being pregnant and my less than natural birth experience. The pain and the agony are all too fresh in my mind, perhaps time will lessen the memory of the torture that I experienced due to my son’s birth.
“Well, do you not want to have this baby?” Dr Wyant asked from behind his surgical mask. I cannot recall my word for word answer, but it was clearly no. Just as I poised myself to jump off of the operating table the doctor demanded that a nurse bring my anxious husband into the operating room. “Your wife”, the doctor stated, “does not want to have a spinal block.” “Would you eagerly allow anyone to stick a foot long needle into your spinal cavity?” I questioned. Unwilling to argue with a near delirious pregnant woman Dr. Wyant turned to speak with the other doctor in the waiting room before asking me if I would allow them to sedate me before administering the spinal block. I agreed on the condition that I would feel no pain. Within minutes my body fell limp and I was rolled onto my side. “Liar, you liar,” I screamed or I think that I screamed as the needle plunged through layers of muscle, tissue and other matter before penetrating my spinal cavity. As I lay strapped to the table, I prayed that the worst was over. Eight months into my pregnancy I was tired, irritable and no longer willing to have my body pierced by needles. Just twenty four hours earlier I proclaimed in loud agonizing sobs that I did not want to have any more babies as an amniocentesis was performed to test the viability of my unborn son’s lungs. The two minute procedure rendered the term cruel and unusual obsolete. The injection site stung even once I returned home after the baby’s birth.
The clock on the wall behind me ticked each second as my husband stood next to me peering over the curtain that shielded my eyes from witnessing the baby’s birth. Though I could feel no pain, I felt the tugging and pushing sensation from the doctor’s hands as he cut into my stomach and through my placenta in order to pull Andrew Nathaniel Davis from my womb. My belligerent placenta was the cause of all my misery. Instead of implanting itself away from my cervix, it chose to take root and flourish over the exit route that babies are supposed to take. I was forced to abandon the natural vaginal birth that I so desired. Not to save my son’s life, but to spare my own. With each passing minute the tugging became more intense. I knew that his birth was imminent. “He is coming, he is coming!!” I whispered to my husband as Andrew was yanked from my body and presented to the world. My head rolled to the right, and from the operating table I watched the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit team assess my newborn son for signs of breathing trouble and the million other maladies that plague pre-term infants. My healthy six pound, thirteen ounce, eighteen inch long, five week premature son was swaddled and placed in my arms for me to inspect as the doctors stapled my stomach shut. Andrew was and forever will be the most beautiful newborn ever. From the top of his head that was covered with silky straight black hair to the tip of his tiny sweet toes, Andrew was just perfectly scrumptious. Unlike most mothers, I can’t say that we fell in love with one another as we gazed into each other’s eyes. My infant son and I bonded months before he made his official entrance into the world. “Mrs. Davis…….Mrs. Davis”, a nurse questioned, “The baby can’t be carried out of the operating room. We can place him between your legs, or you may hold him. Which do you prefer”? Staring into Andrew’s black eyes, “I will hold him”, I cooed and mentally prepared my weak body to keep my arms taut as we glided back to my Labor and Delivery suite.
The four days that I spent learning and loving my son at Kennestone Hospital in Marietta, GA are looked back upon with a halcyon sweetness that is bittersweet. Andrew is no longer a newborn. He is a rough and tumble 21 month old with a broad vocabulary and a sweet smile. However I miss and even long for those briefly few days that I could hold him in my arms and love him without the worry of work or dishes or the general interruptions of life. From my fourth floor window, I looked out onto of the most beautiful metropolitan area in the Unites States and all that I saw were green hills that stretched to the horizon. His sweet baby breath and his tiny cries served only to reinforce my already full grown love for my sweet baby boy. We were in perfect peace.
The instructor's announcement:
Deleted for copyright infringement.
Thank you for reading this far. Please submit any and all feedback. It is valued.
Yes I know that the essay is not the best, but it is my first draft. She requires complete rewrites so I never submit my best work.




How cold, seriously...sorry I don't have any advice for you though.
will give you a grade:
Oh my GOD.


:, she was definitely colder and rambled on longer on the subject of childbirth. The words she used were demeaning because a) pregnancy and childbirth are miraculous, b) it doesn't matter HOW many children you have, they are ALL special and c) there is a HUUUGE difference between a child and a "high school sports" award.
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