[Creative Nonfiction] The Shape of Your Becoming

Read the second-place entry for our week of December 8, 2024 prompt, Finite Time, chosen by guest judge Oliver Burkeman

The Shape of Your Becoming
by Alana Sheeren

In 12 hours, you will hold your son for the first and last time. He will be pulled from your womb, one pound and one ounce of stillness. Your body will memorize his weight on your chest. You will marvel at the perfection of his tiny penis, the softness of his skin, the way no air moves in his lungs. You will take a picture of your husband holding him, but you will refuse photos of your own. This will be your biggest regret.

In 8 hours, they will wheel you out of the hospital room, past your doctor in scrubs. He will be on the phone with the NICU, explaining the situation. You will have already told him no, you don’t want them to try reviving your baby, a decision you make alone.

In 7 hours, the doctor will arrive, and you’ll speak briefly as he looks at your chart. Seconds after he steps out the door you will bleed violently. You’ll gasp and reach for the nurse. She’ll chase after the doctor and he’ll race back to the room, pushing your legs wide. He’ll reach into you again and again as the pain blurs your vision and your body strains to escape his touch.

In 6 hours, your favorite nurse will sit at your bedside, the one who took care of you the last time you were there. Her voice will be low as she keeps you company between her own patients. She will rest her hand on your arm and explain that the knives scraping the inside of your uterus every five minutes are contractions, 17 weeks early.

In 3 hours, the grumpy Irish night nurse will have you sign the paperwork for emergency surgery and leave you alone. You will feel the weight of a warm hand pressed to your left shoulder, but there will be no one else in the room.

In 1 hour, you will call your husband, waking him in a hotel on the other side of the country. You will say to him, “Come home,” and he will scramble to pack his bags and catch the first flight back to LAX. The nurses will remove the heart rate monitor from your waist, and you will catch the look in their eyes as they avoid yours.

In 25 minutes, your friend’s husband will wheel you through the door of the Labor and Delivery ward. The security guard will offer his congratulations. You will smile politely through your fear.

In 10 minutes, you will sit on the edge of the bed, shaking from shock and blood loss, and promise your sleeping toddler: “It’s going to be okay. I love you. Mama will come home.”

In this moment, as you snuggle back under the covers next to her little body, seconds before the silent placental abruption pushes out a grapefruit-sized blood clot that will send you spiraling into your worst nightmare, time pauses and all you feel is love.

A Note From Our Guest Judge,

Oliver Burkeman

I found these reflections on finite time poignant and stirring without exception, so they presented me with my own uncomfortable confrontation with limitation: being obliged to choose one winner from multiple deserving entries. I chose for first place a meditation on youth, death, and memory that brought into focus for me the strangeness of what it is to be a human, alive in the river of time, and the last line of which gave me goosebumps. I also wanted to mention the extraordinary power of the use of the second-person perspective in the entry I ranked second. Thanks for giving me the opportunity to read these.

About Alana Sheeren

Alana Sheeren is a writer, coach, TEDx speaker, and author of the mindfulness journal, 30 Days of Noticing. She holds a Bachelor of Fine Arts in theater, and a Master's degree in clinical and community psychology, and has a passion for healthy grieving, raising empowered kids and posting sunset pictures on Instagram. She lives by the ocean in Southern California with her husband, daughter and snaggle-toothed rescue dog.

This piece was written in response to the prompt Finite Time.