Pink Purple Orange and Blue
December 18, 2020
Pink Purple Orange and Blue
by Hope Sasek
February 27, 2005
Screaming, squalling, red faced
and a fractured clavicle
suctioned and rushed to the NICU,
six pounds, five ounces of new life
measured, named, and cradled in
the warmth of the incubator.
Twenty-one days later, Hannah came home
in mother’s arms and to sleep on father’s chest;
nursed, nourished, loved, dressed, bathed,
rocked to sleep; she followed voices and
welcomed the world as the world welcomed her.
Hannah had deep blue eyes and a ready smile,
laughed at everyone,
giggled with delight,
held her hands and heart wide open.
Crawled up the stairs and couldn’t get down,
pulled herself up on her toes
couldn’t flatten her feet
had braces on her little legs, wore special shoes,
learned to balance with a walker,
wanted to dress herself, tie her own laces,
and brush her tangled brown hair.
Hannah had surgeries, one and then another,
feet and ankles in casts,
pink, purple, orange, and blue.
“You can pick any color you like,”
said the casting tech. Hannah warned me,
“Don’t be scared when they saw off the old cast Nana,
it’s really loud…”
Hannah was brave, lit Chanukah candles
with her small unsteady hand, went to
pre-school, playschool, gymnastics,
dressed her dolls, played princess and
learned to swim.
Imaging, X-rays and CT Scans
were the backdrop for her days,
MRI’s, Physical Therapy, Occupational Therapy,
when she was older, counselling.
Hannah was friends with adults
because kids her age didn’t wear braces,
need Individualized Education Plans,
or miss school for doctors’ appointments.
In high school now, with Covid-19 raging across the nation,
Hannah has virtual friends and thrives in classes on Zoom,
writes music, sings in the choir on her iPad,
auditions for a part in her school play.
She delights others with her ready wit
and sense of humor.
Hannah is curious, creative, determined, bold.
She may never know what it’s like to run,
walk without a limp
or master the balance beam,
but Hannah will sail on her own wings,
scale mountains only she can climb,
and open others’ eyes to life lived fully.
Someday, she will curl in the arms
of a partner who loves her and sleep peacefully,
dreaming of a tomorrow where obstacles
fade into the background,
and judgements cease.
Nana Sasek for Hannah November 2020
Written as part of a Northwest Narrative Medicine Collaborative Community of Practice.