I will ask Dr. Samuels. I can’t live with this for months, and I can’t... I just can’t tell anyone else, not even Abe

March 1964

She should have been happy. So happy. Hadn’t Dr. Samuels just pronounced the words she’d been longing to hear?

“So that means I’m back to normal activity?” Annie asked, still stunned.

Dr. Samuels looked up from the corner desk, where he’d begun scribbling his case notes. “Not exactly. What I said is that you’re progressing well, and doing much better than I would have expected. You can begin with some moderate activity, but no bending or heavy lifting, and still lots of rest. Short walks, and in the next few days I want someone to help you down the stairs. Your muscles have been on bedrest, too,” he smiles, “and they need a little conditioning.”

Yes, she should have been happy. With just days before Pesach, Dr. Samuel’s pronouncement meant that Annie would not spend Seder night, as she was dreading, imprisoned in her bedroom while all of Klal Yisrael rejoiced in freedom.

But how could she feel joy when her fears were mercilessly choking her, when anxiety was draining out all vitality, leaving her with a dark emptiness?

I will ask Dr. Samuels. I can’t live with this for months, and I can’t... I just can’t tell anyone else, not even Abe. There is no one else to talk to. I will ask him. I WILL!

Annie took a deep breath.

“Dr. Samuels?”

“Yes, my dear?”

A slight flush pinkened Annie’s pale cheeks. “You know how much I’ve wanted this baby, and how I’ve done whatever I could so the baby would survive....” Her voice shook a little. She steeled herself and continued. “But, Dr. Samuels, there were times when... when I hated this baby.”

There, I’ve said it.