# Part of my memoir, 491 words



## jooniper (Feb 2, 2008)

Hello. I am working on a memoir about giving birth to my daughter, who was diagnosed with Down syndrome, in the Former Soviet Union. The book is also about the grieving process I went through in the first couple of years of her life. It is a work in progress. Here is a short excerpt of my manuscript. What do you think?

Thanks!


It was a bright April morning when I found out my third daughter had Down syndrome. I was standing next to the baby’s incubator in a hospital in Kiev, Ukraine. I was alone and far from home. The doctor who told me stood behind me. Six days earlier, after the baby was born, a sharp needle broke through her placid skin, diving into her vein. A vile quickly filled with her blood. It was closed up, labeled and sent off to be tested for an extra chromosome in her cells.

My husband and I spent the next few days exploring the baby’s body for clues. “Does she have Down syndrome? She doesn’t, does she?” Three tablespoons of her blood held the answer.

I have dreams where I am free falling. I am afraid of heights. They say if you actually hit bottom in your dream that you are dead in real life. When I was told my daughter’s diagnosis, I hit bottom. 

My hand rested on the baby’s heel through the plastic. I had yet to hold her. “So what do we do now?” I asked. As adults we want to look together. It is one of the most nagging sins. But I wanted to be a toddler and fling myself on the floor, bang my fists and tare my clothes. I stood silently, blankly. The doctor talked about other health concerns. Her words had no sound. I watched her painted face contort as her mouth moved. It was like I was under water. 

You read about mothers of children with Down syndrome. Many accounts show a woman scared of the diagnosis at first. But most women claim instantly love takes over and nothing else matters. I think a lot of them are lying. 

I hurriedly thanked the doctor, turned, and ran out of the nursery. I could not stay. If I stayed, I might have turned to salt, like the woman in Genesis who looked back to her city as she fled. A better woman would have bent down and drawn close to her baby. She would have looked into her child’s sleepy eyes and vowed to love her and protect her and treasure her. I reached my room across the hall, sobbing, and fell on my bed. It was like I was placed in a straight jacket. 

Instantly, several women surrounded me. One nurse patted my arm. Someone handed me a small plastic cup filled with purple liquid. Each woman carried on her own personal monologue directed at me. Dazed, I gulped down the thick syrup. The doctor who delivered my baby and the diagnosis, stood to my right, closest to my head. “Stop crying”, she told me. “Yes, it is terrible your daughter has Down syndrome. But there is nothing that can be done. Now stop crying!” The other women nodded in agreement, still patting me and saying “neecheevo, neecheevo, it’s nothing, it’s nothing.”


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## Truth-Teller (Feb 3, 2008)

Wow; you have something here.

Great premise, but a lackluster execution.

Add details and layers of truth. Try to write more vividly and see through a straight and wide prism, even if it hurts--even if it brings you much pain. 

Let writing be a form of catharsis.


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## Wallmaker (Feb 3, 2008)

Hi.  Wow.  What a great idea for a memoir and several lines in here show me this isn't going to be some hallmark movie waiting to be written.  This sounds very real and honest.

Now, as Truth Teller was saying, the execution isn't all it's cracked up to be.  You open by announcing the down syndrome, then backtrack and talk about waiting for diagnosis.  It's an intense time, but we readers already know the outcome!  Take a moment and decide to tell what first and also take your time and include more details.

What made the doctor think the baby had downs?  Was it during birth?  How did the narrator and the husband react to this excited and also desperate moment?  I like their exploration of the baby's body, trying to "find" downs syndrome and this could be expanded as well. 

I'm serious about expanding it.  You have enough in here for a 10 page story chapter... at least.  You have time here to describe the narrator, her husband, the nurse who will later give her the liquid in the cup, time to really paint in the details and get the full impact of how this is going to affect the narrator.  Right now, a lot of the subtle emotion is a little hazy, or just stated.

Keep working on it and expanding it.  Recall all the details you can to flesh it out.  Sounds like a painful and brave story to tell, so take your time.  I'll happily ready more you post.

Cheers,

Kay


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## jooniper (Feb 3, 2008)

Thank you both.  I have about forty-five pages so far.  I will work on execution.  Thanks especially for the questions.  That helps.  Most of what I have is from the first year...a lot of raw emotion...a lot of red wine stains.

Thanks again.


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## Industrial (Feb 3, 2008)

This is beautifully written, I was skeptical when I first read it, and it does slow down slightly to the end.

What you have here is beautifully written partly because of the subject and tone, if you are able to keep up this highly involving pace I think you have a good memoir on your hands.


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## virginia (Feb 10, 2008)

I love this and am really feeling for you, your husband and your daughter. Not only because of the situation but because you have a great pace of writing. 

I hope you do grow to love your little girl and look forward to reading more.

Take care,
love, Virginia


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## jooniper (Feb 11, 2008)

Thanks Industrial and Virginia.  I am working on another part to post.  Would appreciate your opinions when I get around to posting.

Oh, and Virginia, the "baby" is now two and the light of my life.  Thanks!


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## shraga (Feb 14, 2008)

Hi I just read the beginning of your memior and as a positive I am interested to read some more. 
Though I do believe that I have to agree what was said before. In the beginning you already tell us th ending, in some cases that's a good thing. Here you are trying to involve the reader in your life, let them feel what you felt. Try not to tell them what will happen as you didn't know. Build up your birth, they took the child, you didnt see her you didnt know what was wrong, the doctor pulled you aside, and then you found out. 
Build the suspense, make us go through what you did (or at least close to it)
Good luck, keep plugging away!


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## jooniper (Feb 14, 2008)

Thanks Shraga.  I am working on it.  I appreciate the critique.


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