Chapter One

DIANA -- A BEAUTIFUL TRAGEDY

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Looking for our first home while being nine months pregnant had taken a lot out of me. I asked the real estate agent to leave as soon as we had signed the offer. I was exhausted. This pregnancy, my first, was easier than I thought it would be, until tonight. I must have overdone the house hopping. I was glad it was over. If I didn't ache so much, I would have started packing that night. It wasn't even midnight yet.

Same Night: Just After Midnight -- December 7th 1967

"Honey, how would you like to go for a ride?"

"Go to Sleep," he muttered.

"I'm not kidding. Wake up. Tonight's the night!"

"Donna, are you sure? You're probably mistaken. Where are my socks?"

Somehow, I had always pictured this moment a little differently. I was the one who was usually difficult to wake! I stood there laughing: He had his foot propped on my stomach, and he was hoping I'd go away and come back in the morning.

During the next thirteen hours, I lay planning all the things we were going to do with our new son. The life he would have, the kind of life that Darko and I had been deprived of. We had missed out on so much. Our childhoods were lonely, sad and full of fear -- nothing we would want to reminisce over. But our son's would be filled with love and warmth, beauty and security. He would not need to fear anything, ever. He would grow in bliss each and every day of his life. In a few hours our dream would come true.

Darko and I had looked forward to this moment from the time we met four and a half years ago. He was nineteen and I was a whole grownup, full-fledged, ready to tackle the world, "fifteen". Having waited first to graduate from high school to get married, then till we saved a downpayment for a home (and a red sports car he so desperately wanted), the moment was finally here.

Labor wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be. Just keep plugging cigarettes in my mouth, and I'd be the most cooperative, undemanding patient a nurse could ever hope for. Labor was degrading, maybe humiliating, but not half bad. In thirteen hours I lost all the modesty I had ever possessed. Who are all these people? Everyone in the hospital had seen the baby's head, except me.

"One more hard push, Donna, that's a girl, here it comes. Good. Good." coaxed Dr. Moore.

"Oh, he's crying, let me see him!" My motherly arms ached to hold him.

Silence.

"It's a girl, Donna."

"A g-i-r-l? I wanted a boy so-o-o bad."

"She has a defect, Donna."

Dr. Moore put the baby on my chest. She had a small round hole, about the size of a quarter on her back. I could see inside her body. A nurse hastily pulled her away. "That's not a defect", my mind screamed. They'll put a bandage on it. Why all the fuss?

My mind raced back and forth.

"I'm sorry I didn't want a girl."

It wasn't because I didn't like girls. But I'd be a better mother to a boy. I wouldn't get smothering and mushy. I'd make him do housework and chores and not let him take advantage of my weak points. I'd only spoil a girl rotten, wanting to compensate for my own childhood. Too many responsibilities, at a very young age, with little time for fun and fantasy. I also had an awful image of what she would or could look like, being a combination of Darko and myself. We weren't the smallest of people and Darko was a large burly man. She would not be petite. I could picture her stomping around the house talking in a husky voice like daddy. Would she end up with my huge nose and small ugly teeth? I thought it would be cruel to bring a daughter into this world handicapped with these characteristics.

"I'm sorry, I'M SORRY! I DIDN'T MEAN IT THE WAY IT SOUNDED. I DO WANT A GIRL!" My little girl. "Please, somebody PLEASE say she's all right!"

As my eyes bathed this pretty, dainty, blue eyed blond baby, I didn't care what she grew up to look like. Looking at her I knew I could be the very best mother any girl could hope for. I just knew they would put a bandage on her back, and my little darling and I would begin life.

I was picturing the frilly little dresses, the frilly underpants. Going to parks. I foresaw our whole future together in those few minutes.

The delivery room was silent, except for Dr. Moore's soft voice on the phone. "We'll send the mother over too. She'll need a skin graft to enclose her exposed spine."

Looking at this precious little doll, kicking and crying in the incubator, it was hard to believe Dr. Moore said she couldn't live more than a few days without the operation.

I was wheeled to a private room. Don't you usually get a ward bed when you pay for semi-private coverage? This was a switch. I didn't want to be in a single room, I wouldn't have anyone to talk to.

Darko entered crying so hard he was heaving. He leaned over and just held me as we sobbed. "Why us? Why are our dreams being shattered, Donna?"

Only nineteen and I felt like I was eighty.


I worked hard for what I wanted and was making a salary to prove it. But I was also used and abused as I always went more than that extra mile. People sense when you're a doer, a worker, an achiever.

After I graduated from high school, I was hired to set up the IBM keypunch department for a medium sized company. This was my first job. Within a week I was also doing their "accounts receivable". Second week I was the telex operator because I typed faster than the regular girl. The time saved was money saved, just like on a long-distance call. When the Payroll Clerk quit, they didn't replace him. Instead, I acquired responsibility for the weekly payroll for 140 factory workers. No one wanted to replace the switchboard operator, so I was asked to relieve her for "her" lunch hour, while I ate mine at the reception desk. My problem was; I could speed up. I asked almost weekly, and received a raise which greatly helped while saving for our large wedding. I knew I couldn't keep up the grueling pace forever, so after the wedding, when we wouldn't need as much money, I planned to quit. I knew I could manage till then.

The line ups, for various skills and free services, were miles long, and not just at my office. Parents, aunts, uncles, neighbors: "Super Gal Donna. She'll help, she'll do it, she knows how. She's got the youth and the stamina."

Darko and I planned, arranged and paid for our own wedding. It took an entire year of saving and scrimping. Each week, out of my pay check, I would pay for the cooks, the invitations, the band, the hall or the food. It cost thousands of dollars to have 250 guests. My parents wanted me to have the grandest wedding, but we had to do it ourselves. Nobody helped, but everybody offered advice. No one realized it was too big a job -- alone. This was not a talent or natural ability that I was gifted with. It was hard work!

Even though Darko didn't speak a word of English when he arrived in Canada in 1963, he was catching up quickly. He got his electrician's license and was earning top wages, EXCEPT: he signed over the back of his paycheck, as was expected of a good Slavic son, to his mother, and was then given streetcar fare and two cartons of cigarettes for the week. NO allowance whatsoever. Just a box lunch. This left only my paycheck for our 'grand' wedding. Two weeks before our wedding, I didn't have the funds for the bridal party's flowers. We called a family 'Pow Wow'. That's just what it looked like. Our mistake was not having a 'Peace Pipe'. Everyone was sitting around somber, preparing for a cold war. My dad said if we hadn't saved enough money for the expenses of a wedding, we had no business getting married. His mother said, 'since it was Nick's daughter getting married, Nick should pay for the flowers'. My mother just cried.


Now looking past Darko as the door opened, I saw my mother crying and sobbing in the hall. "Don't let my mother in. Please don't let my mother in this room." Darko went and said something to her. She came in and enveloped me for a moment, then was led out again.


Afternoon, December 9th

Trying to get information about my daughter was called 'pass the buck'. I hadn't seen ANY doctors. Nurses just insisted they knew nothing and I would have to talk to DOCTORS. 'What doctors?' No one knew. But happily, since I was still here, in this hospital, that meant no skin graft, which meant -- bandage ONLY. I presumed they had made a big thing of her condition so I'd be prepared for the worst and then be relieved when nothing serious was found.

I was sitting, putting on my face, when Darko came in.

"How do you feel, MUM?"

"Fine, now that you're here. You know what I'd like to do? -- See some babies. Let's go to the nursery windows."

"There are no babies on this floor. They're upstairs." he replied, surprised that I didn't know.

"What do you mean upstairs? I thought I was ON the 'baby ward'."

"No -- there's just sick people out there -- no babies."

"Well, let's go find the babies' floor."

We roamed the halls and elevators till we found the newborn nursery. With me in my housecoat and gown, no one paid much attention to us. My heart just leaped in my chest when I saw those tiny bundles of joy in pink and blue. I wanted to hold my baby. I just ached for her. Pink and blue everywhere, except -- I noticed a small baby in an incubator laying on it's stomach, without a stitch of clothing on. It had a growth on it's back about the size of a small child's fist and it's feet were pointing curiously toward each other. As a nurse passed, inquisitive being that I am, I asked, "What is that, on the baby's back?"

"Oh she's got spina bifida, she isn't going to live, poor thing." I had heard that word before, -- in the delivery room, -- when doctor Moore called the other hospital -- "OH MY GOD! -- that's our child!"

My legs turned to jelly and I was on my knees in front of the nursery glass, gasping for air, trying to stay conscious, my head drained of blood.

The young nurse instantaneously realized what had happened. We were the parents. We didn't know. Two days and she was still here, waiting to die. No skin graft! No operation!

I don't know how I ended up in my bed two floors below. I was hysterical. "Get my doctor. What's happening? What's that on her back? What do you mean 'GOING TO DIE'?"

Within hours, the word spread among relatives. I was getting phone call after phone call.

"Heard you had a cripple."

"It'll be best if she dies, dear."

"You don't want a crippled child. You should adopt."

"Don't adopt, European husbands could never love someone else's child."

The next soothing comments were my mother-in-law's; "I told you that you shouldn't smoke. See what you did now? God's punishing you for smoking. Your aunt couldn't have children. It comes from YOUR side of the family. Darko's fine."

"Darko, I don't want to see her either. Keep her away from me."

Heartless, -- they're heartless. How could this be happening? It's all a bad dream. It MUST be. Why hasn't a doctor come to talk to me? This was becoming a horror story.



December 12th -- a.m.


Dr. Moore, a sweet, motherly, well-groomed lady, was finally standing by my bed, choking back tears, at a loss for words. Very tenderly she said, "Dr. Glupa, a specialist is coming to speak to you. These things happen. They can't be helped. Women have three, six, even ten babies and then one with spina bifida. It's not hereditary. You have less chance now of having another S.B. baby than anyone else. She'll explain." Not wanting to show the tears in her eyes, she left.

I sat dazed. Am I in shock? None of this is registering. Everything will be all right. It has to be! I'll take a shower. Maybe I'll wake up in my bedroom, still pregnant.

While standing in the shower, letting the water roll down my flabby body, a head appeared, "Would you turn off the tap, please. I'm in a hurry."

I was embarrassed. What was she doing, intruding into my meager privacy? I didn't mind people staring at my anatomy while I was pregnant, but I didn't have that excuse now, it was just jiggly flesh.

"I'm the specialist, Dr. Glupa. Your child won't live more than a few weeks. Her head will enlarge from the spinal fluids and she'll be paralyzed from the waist down. If she possibly lives longer, she'll be blind and the growth will get larger. You'll have to put her in a home, she'll need round the clock attention. I'm late for an appointment. Sorry."

The head was gone. It vanished as quickly as it had appeared. I don't know how long I stood there with the water turned off, trying to decipher what had just happened and what this dark haired head had just said. No emotion -- she could have been talking about the muffler of my car at a garage.

Back in my room, 'I' was emotionless. I couldn't cry, just stare. A woman walked in. "I'm the head nurse of this floor. You'll have to put your baby in a home. She can't stay here. She's in a 'newborn' nursery, for healthy babies. Make arrangements."

"Where?" I gasped. "Why didn't she have surgery? We've inquired and in most other countries they would have operated till she was either normal or dead. How can you just leave her like that -- to die?"

"I don't know why, I just know you both have to leave this hospital tomorrow."

"Why can't I just take her home?"

"She needs professional and special attention that you couldn't give her."

She was right. I was hoping against hope somebody had misdiagnosed. This was no longer a hole the size of a quarter. Her body was growing out of the opening.

"Can you find an institution for us to put her in?" I asked thinking realistically once again.

"No, in Ontario, babies have to be two years old to be institutionalized. She won't live that long." Still businesslike and callused, bombarding answers.

"What do I do with her till then?" I choked back tears now.

"I don't know. You had her. She's your problem, not ours. If you can't hack it, there's the window -- JUMP!

If I wasn't utterly paralyzed from the cold abruptness of this woman, I would have lunged for her throat. This was a nurse? They were supposed to serve and protect, or something like that. Didn't they take an oath of humanity, dedication or something? My mind couldn't digest medical terminology. She's telling me to end my problem by ending my life. I was past the point of furious. Adrenaline pumping, I picked up the phone. Sue the nurses, sue the doctors, sue the hospital, they can't do this to me. (Years later I found that this lady had acted the villain in kindness. She shocked me back to reality by diverting my anger and frustration and directing it at her, I would not succumb to self pity and sit and vegetate. Instead she knew I'd take the situation by the horns and start reacting to life.)

The following day the Health Minister of Ontario had arranged to have my baby placed in an old age home in Whitby which had facilities for small babies with birth defects. I would have to transport her there myself. Could I really? That meant I'd be able to hold her for a few hours. Actually hold her!

I must make arrangement to have her baptized immediately. Why hadn't I thought of that before? I'll have to find a priest to come to the hospital in the morning. Who? Can't get the priest who married us. He'd wonder why he'd never seen us since. The hospital must have one for emergencies. Darko's sister can be the godmother.

"Mr. and Mrs. Martonfi, by what name shall I christen the baby?"

I don't know. I haven't thought of any girls' names. The only one I like is Michelle, but if she's not going to live, I don't want to waste the name. "Both our names start with a 'D' so, let's call her Diana."

'Waste' a name? What had I just said? I'd become a monster.

I left the hospital without my baby. Neither Darko nor I could take down the crib. That would be too final. "Maybe tomorrow she'd be okay and come home," our numbed minds rationalized. When I returned, my precious bundle was brought to me to be dressed for her long journey, my words haunted me, "I don't want to waste the name!??" How cruel. I'm as heartless as those around me. 'I' was going to be a good mother? How could such a thought enter my head? This tiny angel deserved the best in the short time allotted her. She wasn't a waste. What's happening to me? Am I becoming a mechanical robot? My heart was breaking. In a few hours she would be miles away, laying helplessly, waiting to die -- in an old age home. I would never call another child Michelle. Ever. Will I be able to live through this?

My dad drove us to Whitby in one of the worst snow storms we'd seen in many years. On one bridge we thought we wouldn't make it through the drifts. I feared we'd be stranded for hours. Could she live without an incubator for that long? "Please God, don't let her die here in my arms." That I couldn't handle. Upon arriving, I couldn't muster enough courage to walk through the home. It was the saddest place I had ever seen. I thought I had seen all aspects of life in my nineteen years -- but this side I had never seen. So many, old and young, on the brink of death. It was all too heartbreaking, too wrenching. Dad and I both cried. Odd, I thought my dad couldn't cry. Only my mother CRIES. We started for home in silence.

'Good-bye little darling, I love you.'

Darko was home by the time I reached the apartment. My dad made his apologies for not coming up. The crib, still beside my bed, screamed of it's emptiness.

I wanted a baby. Any baby. Today! Now! Please! Somebody help me! I'm just aching. A husband cannot fulfill that ache. Only a baby could.

Tossing for hours not able to sleep, staring at the empty crib in the dark, I rose from bed and went and curled up on the sofa. Angry now, I lashed out at God. "GOD, are you up there? Can you hear me? What have I done to deserve this? You knew how we wanted a baby! You knew how we planned to give our child the best in life. There are people out there having babies that don't want babies. Giving them away! Normal babies. WHY ME? WHY DID YOU DO THIS TO ME?" I was almost yelling, but when I had stopped, I sensed this overwhelming peace. It was unbelievable, I could almost touch it. IT WAS GOD! I heard distinctly;

"I DIDN'T DO THIS BUT I WILL SHOW YOU HOW GREAT I AM, I WILL SEND YOU TWIN BOYS. I WILL REPAY, SAYS THE LORD GOD

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