That Baby Book Again on My Birthday December 8th

Now that I am a regular reader of my own baby book, I thought I would share this entry from my mother on December 8th, my birthday, the year of the burn, “Anne spent her 2nd birthday in St . Vincent’s Hospital. We didn’t recall to her it was her birthday, but every few days took a gift up for her.” It’s unclear whether I spent my 2nd birthday or my 3rd birthday in the hospital — my mother’s entries had some inconsistencies on the years. It’s understandable of course, the woman was going through some rather traumatic stress in her own right. When I think about this, I might have done exactly the same thing with my small child if faced with a similar situation. I mean, why remind them of something they probably wouldn’t understand anyway. In any event, happy birthday to me. How would you handle a situation like this with a 2- or 3-year old?

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Finding People

Finding people after 40 years is something of a daunting task. Yes, there are some alive and well, and even willing to talk about what they remember of my accident. But then there are the ones I think of and only remember a first name — Maggie, my nurse in the hospital, or Audrey, the physical therapist. I talked to my friend Sue who works at the hospital where I was treated so many years ago and she confirmed that in our modern world, our modern human resources rules mean people can’t share much. So will I ever find these people I remember? And if I did, would they remember? Maggie the nurse would. When I was 18, I went to visit a friend at the hospital, St. Vincent’s. When I walked out of the elevator she ran toward me and hugged me. I had no idea who she was until she told me, tears in her eyes. How she remembered me then, 15 years after she had last seen me, still startles me.