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An excerpt from Isabel's winning essay:
Allow me to introduce you to my sister, Paula Andrea
Ruiz Castro. She is nine months pregnant, excited, and exhausted. Like
most women at the end of their pregnancy, she is ready for her daughter
to be born, but she refuses to rush her. She speaks to the baby
everyday, telling her not to feel hurried and that she can take all the
time she needs. Strange. I admire my big sister for her amazing
strength; she endures nauseating mornings, sleepless nights, and
constant questioning from the people around. She has not complained once
during these drawn-out forty weeks because, instead, she looks forward
to the future. She knows better than anyone else that once the baby is
born, everything will change. The birth of a new life brings more joy
than anything else imaginable, because suddenly, there is a life that is
more important than your own. The doctor’s office building is made of
burnt brick, baring a white sign with green trim, which reads “Carolina
OB/GYN”. The examining room contains thousands of pictures of newborns,
babies Doctor Latika Patel has delivered over the years. I remember when
I first met Doctor Patel, she encouraged me to become an
obstetrician/gynecologist by saying, “This is probably the most
rewarding job out there. Being able to witness the beauty of life is not
something many people get to experience in their lifetime, and I make my
living of it. It never loses its beauty.” If I had had doubts about
obstetrics before that moment, Doctor Patel cleared them up with a few
simple words. I am driven to becoming an OB/GYN because of the
experience I endured with my sister.
Her kindness and happiness radiates from within her, cheering up even
the most exhausted women in her office. I want to be this person for
these women; I would love to have the opportunity to touch the hearts of
so many lives through my career. I accompany my sister to her monthly
check-ups, learning more and more about the baby with each visit. I
still remember the first time I set eyes upon the baby via ultrasound;
we were in the picture-filled exam room, staring at a small black and
white screen. Nothing could have wiped the smiles off the faces of my
sister and I. She is beautiful. I return every week, anxious to see the
baby’s progress. It all started with the news of her pregnancy, grew
into a heartbeat, and developed into a beautiful, baby girl. Even though
we cannot meet her yet, I can feel her perfection and grace. I swear she
listens when we speak to her. When my sister told her she could not be
born over the weekend because she had to close on a house, she listened.
If there is music playing, she will kick and wiggle to the beat while
she dances in my sister’s belly. I can tell she is just as excited to
come out as we are. Everyday, we imagine what she will look like. Dark
hair? Light hair? Hairy? Bald? What color will her eyes be? What about
her skin color? All of us have had dreams about the baby, crafting our
own image of her in our mind. Some of us have envisioned her at a young
age while others have seen her as a toddler. Unfortunately, none of us
will know what she truly looks like until she is born. Time is our enemy
as we go through these last few days. As the baby grows bigger, our
patience grows weaker. Every phone call is approached with excitement,
every night is slept with anticipation, and every wince of my sister is
tended to with hope. We cannot wait for the moment we receive the call,
everyone is ready for the day. Hopefully soon, a picture of my precious
niece will be added to the collage in Doctor Patel’s office. In the
meantime, we wait. We wait in anticipation with warm welcomes, ready to
give this baby all of our love and passion. --- The call. I wake up
drowsy when my mother calls my name. “Isabel, wake up. Your sister
started her contractions. We need to head over, hurry up!” I look at my
plastic alarm clock and the bright, red numbers confirm my suspicions.
It is early, too early. They proudly glow 5:27 a.m., laughing at my
exhaustion. I drag myself over to the bathroom and taste the minty
toothpaste as I hastily brush my teeth. Quick, quick Isabel! Hurry up! I
jump into some sweats and a t-shirt, noticing I match for the first time
ever. Even my shoes! Haha, what a strange time to do this! We rush to
the car and race the clock to my sister’s house. Everyone around us
seems to be going five miles per hour. Why are cars even out this early?
My mother and I cannot find the right words to speak so I turn on the
radio in hopes of drowning out the silence. After it comes back from
commercials, my mom interrupts The Plain White T’s to tell me about her
labor experiences. I was born a mere two hours after her first
contraction, and she hopes my sister is just the same. I say a silent
prayer, asking God to give her strength through this troublesome day for
He knows she will need it. We arrive at the house as soon as possible
and rush ourselves upstairs to the bathroom where my sister awaits. She
is ready to hop into the shower and does as soon as we enter, and as she
finishes, I play with Shadow. He did not leave the bedside all night and
has barely slept. I can see the exhaustion in his black eyes, but he
refuses to leave my sister’s side. He knows. It amazes me how animals
have the sixth sense for things: storms, earthquakes, pain, everything.
He cries as we leave the house and head for the hospital to finish this
memorable journey. In the car, we jot down the times of Paula’s
contractions as the radio plays “Breathe”. Funny. When we arrive, I can
see my sister’s relief on her face. The emergency room is surprisingly
empty, only one lady sits alone in a corner and she smiles at us when
she realizes our reason for the visit. I always imagined emergency rooms
to be packed, crowded, and hectic, but no. It is quiet and still, not a
sound is heard aside from the ringing of the phones. The room is just a
blur; details escape my mind because the only thing I can think about is
stupidities. I still have homework to do. I am going to miss the AP
Prompt! I am going to be so lost in statistics! The paper! Concentrate
Isabel! Concentrate! The nurse arrives, puts my sister in a wheelchair,
and the lady in the waiting room wishes us good luck. We make our way
upstairs to the maternity ward and enter the “observation room”.
Observation room? Why the name? It sounds like an experiment! She lies
down on the bed and the nurse starts hooking up all the doctor’s toys
up, one for the baby’s heartbeat and another to monitor the
contractions. We all tense up as the nurse checks for dilation, praying
strongly that she has dilated further. I know this day will be full of
many, many prayers, and I hope God stands by our side through her pain.
After checking the cervix, the nurse says the words no one wants to
hear, “She’s still at one centimeter.” No, she can’t be. Not after all
her pain. No! She encourages us to walk around with her in order to
relax her and hopefully quicken the process. We willingly agree, just
glad to get out of the room. The cafeteria invites us to a heart-healthy
breakfast, lulling us in with its fresh aroma. Breakfast consists of
everything under the sun: eggs, toast, grits, bacon, sausage, bagels,
muffins, biscuits, everything. Mom and I grab our shares of food and
start nibbling at our breakfast. I have been starving for quite some
time now, considering it is 8 a.m., but for some reason my mind stays on
my sister who is walking around impatiently, anxious for the baby to be
born. I return to the room and for the first time notice the bright,
playful posters hanging up. The room smells of Febreeze, fresh laundry
scent. Why is the wallpaper always so ugly? Considering people will be
here a while, why not put some care into the walls? This wait is driving
us all crazy. The sad part is, it has only just begun; we have not even
reached half the journey yet. Prayers keep circling the room, praying
for her to dilate, praying for the contractions to continue, praying for
it to be quick, praying for it to today, praying for the baby to be
safe, praying for Paula to be safe. Prayers will be our only comfort
until the moment of delivery.
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