Writings / Creative Non-Fiction: Johanna Van Zanten

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The town of Widelake with less than ten thousand residents did not have obstetricians, let alone one on call at the hospital. The emergency doctor examined Candace who was then at twenty-four weeks into her pregnancy. “Your baby seems to be in distress. I think we’d better get you to the hospital in Edmonton. If baby is born now, it will likely not survive; it’s too early. I will call the air ambulance to take you there.”

Candace was taken to Edmonton, the next big urban centre, in an attempt to save her foetus. The air ambulance – a helicopter – had no space for James, and somebody had to look after Joey anyway, so James returned home with Joey and waited, and waited.

He got Candace’s call the next morning at around 10.

“Hi, it’s me. Would you please, come and get me?”

“What? Are you OK? Can you leave already? What about the baby?”

“Yes, I am OK, but the baby came out anyway. The doctors here said I could leave. I hate it here. Pick me up, please? Our baby is still alive. It’s a girl, didn’t I tell you it would be a girl? I was right. But I am not allowed to touch her, or even be in the same room. I can’t feed her, but I don’t have milk yet anyway. They feed her with a tube and she has to stay in a special incubator in the intensive care for babies. She is all hooked up with tubes all over her, to measure her heart and for breathing too, and she is very small, her whole body is as long as my hand. She can almost see all her veins–her skin is very thin. The doctors explained I couldn’t do anything for her right now anyway, so I might as well go home. They told me she might die anyway. She is born too early. I will pray for her, but I don’t want to stay here. I’m tired. Will you come?”

“Of course I will come. I am so sorry the doctors could not stop her from being born. It is too early. Are you alright then, did she come out alright?”

“Yes, it was quick, she came out of me almost right after they landed the helicopter that they put it down on top of the roof. They had just time enough to wheel me into an operating room. She was so small, I hardly noticed anything after the doctor gave me something for the pain.”

“OK, I will leave soon. I will drop Joey off at Granny’s. It’s too long for him to sit in the truck both ways. Where do I go to find you?”

“If you go to the maternity ward on the 6th floor and ask the receptionist, I’ll be in one of the day rooms. The address is 10240 Kingsway Ave. Don’t get lost. See you soon, bye.”

“OK. Bye.”

There was no, I love you, as that is not their way. The less words used, the better. Even Joey was a quiet boy, although very active. James got Candace home that day. In the evening they sat together again as a family, minus one small girl that was struggling for her life in a far away hospital without them. From then on Candace prayed every day three times: as soon as she got up, then when Joey went down for a nap, and again before she went to sleep. She was raised with a mix of Roman Catholic and Cree Nation beliefs that seamlessly had became one religion, for which one didn’t need a church or a priest to worship. She went outside and prayed to Mother Nature and all good spirits of her ancestors while offering some of the tobacco especially saved for this purpose. She resolved to go to a sweat together with James at the shaman’s place – old man Houle – so they could be ready for baby if and when she would come home with them one day.

That day finally came after the baby’s tenth week in the hospital. Until that day, Candace and James had made a few trips to visit Amy. But now they could take her home. Candace did not let her daughter out of her eyes. In spite of having missed the full term for creating a bond with her child-to-be, Candace was a good mother and all her instincts were intact.

Amy’s paediatrician made a referral through the local health unit to the early intervention program to help Amy catch up; that’s how we met. From then we had weekly play sessions at their home. We chatted, played with baby Amy and kept Joey busy as well. We talked about Amy’s progress and how we could encourage her development. Each week I left different educational toys for either child that were stimulating for their age. Many toys completely new to her as well, Candace played her heart out with her children; all three loved it. I became the lady with the bag full of toys imagining myself somewhat of a postmodern Mary Poppins. In the meantime I observed Amy’s progress and charted it at intervals on the Gesell test, a standard for child development. Amy did fine.

They did not really know Amy very well and their discovery of who she was started with a vengeance. Amy’s compromised lungs had some remaining difficulties that were due to the dry and unhealthy heat from the woodstove. The health unit’s involvement had the effect of James accessing a subsidy to replace the woodstove with a gas heater. Amy’s breathing improved. As Amy was tube-fed directly into her stomach while in the incubator, some scar tissue was visible on her tummy. She seemed to favour one side over another, so we encouraged her to use both hands for playing, and both legs when she started to stand up and shuttle along the couch and coffee table, learning to walk. She was reluctant and preferred to sit down.

The summer arrived and daylight became longer. Summer nights in the north are significantly longer than anywhere in the south as the sun moves through the northern hemisphere toward the summer solstice. There is no greater joy after a long winter with much snow and minus 35-degree temperatures than rooting around in the garden dirt on long, bright evenings. My friendship grew with this small and quiet family and I invited them over for a visit to my home, on the way to Granny’s home in the next town. On evening they came by, all four of them. The children happily played in the sandbox with my daughter and I showed them her bunnies.

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4 Responses to “Writings / Creative Non-Fiction: Johanna Van Zanten”

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  1. John Ukam says:

    Great art. Very interesting.

  2. Chris says:

    Such a tense and sad nonfiction piece by Johanna Van Zanten. Terrible and unacceptable that First Nations people, time and again, are not getting proper care.

  3. Mathew Nashed says:

    A terrible outcome. I too grieve for her loss.

  4. Thanks for your response to my story John, Chris and Mathew. Much appreciated.
    Johanna

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