"In September 2015, I gave birth to my son-my second child-via C-section in a hospital in San Diego. I had only been in the United States for a couple of months. I didn't know the healthcare system or the school system. I didn't know who to call when I needed help. My English was still limited-I was learning it at school."
"That morning, my ex-husband had already left for work, taking our only car. I was alone, holding a two-day-old baby in my arms, completely unable to lift the car seat because of the fresh stitches. And I was supposed to get my daughter to school. I sat there on the floor, looking at the car seat, trying to will my body to lift it-but I couldn't."
"So I emailed the elementary school principal this: I'd just given birth, I had no car, no help, and couldn't lift my newborn. "I'm sorry," I wrote. "My daughter can't come to school today." The principal replied, "I'll come pick her up from your house. And I'll bring her home after school, too." That was it. It brought me to tears."
In September 2015, I gave birth to my son via C-section shortly after arriving in the United States. I had limited English, no familiarity with the healthcare or school systems, and only a brief school break before returning to class. My ex-husband left for work with the only car, and I could not lift the newborn car seat because of fresh stitches while holding a two-day-old baby. I emailed the elementary school principal to explain that my daughter could not attend school. The principal offered to pick up and return my daughter, an act that moved me to tears and felt rooted in shared humanity. The account contrasts everyday life routines with the reluctance to confront mortality.
Read at Psychology Today
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