Hanging there in traction the phone at Physical Therapy rang: a moment in time that etched eternal upon my soul. "You told us!" Three voices chimed as the conference call began. You told us that God said you should to be ready to travel in March. We really saw no way it was going to happen before June; you need to book your flight for March 1st. We got to get you back out of Russia before Women’s day. Can you be you ready?
As the front door opened into my serenity I stepped into the dining room. There before my eyes the suitcases fully packed with warm clothing and even the K- rations in case of emergency. Looking into the three boxes I wept to see all the formula and mittens that filled them. It was only in December when the new clothing washer came. That was the day the hand truck struck me in the groin and had fractured my pelvis. Only able to lie down or walk; so many hours spent walking collecting all the mittens from every desert clearance rack. The boxes packed full of vitamins and cold medicines, lice treatments and film for the orphanage.
At the bank the kindness of the merchant teller who so painfully had search out the $20,000 worth of perfect twenty, fifty and one hundred dollar bills. Going into that small chamber with her my heart pumped hard at the efforts at hand. Then that moment of courage when with all that cash stashed on my person through the parking lot into car a drive home to remember.
We prepared our Visa and Pass ports, air line tickets, contacts and rehearsed the events to unfold. The first leg of the flight would take 18 hours. Sitting was out of the question for any length of time. Standing in the back of a jet liner offers a wonder of exchange. There a young man spent hours heard lick no one had ever listened to him before. The stewards so warm with great kindness gave us a bottle of champagne to celebrate our new child. During the late hours the rows in back of the plane could be used to lay me down some. Three seats across oh the relief that offered.
We landed in Sweden and the adventure became rich. De- boarding on a tarmac was a new experience. We boarded a buss and traveled to the other terminal where we then re- boarded onto a smaller craft. Carts of duty free trinkets displaying goods rolled up and down the isles. The chocolates looked to be a treat. We sat beside each other in this crowded plane and the flight was painful. My labor pains had begun like waters broke. The long flight arrived into another world. We had stepped back into time into St. Petersburg in the former Soviet Union.
When the flight doors opened my breadth was stifled by the intense cigarette smoke. I gasped and held my sleeve to my face. Hard work was an understated fact. This father to be had two giant cases on wheels with two carry on attached atop to them to pull. Guarding his “Mother to be” who was in the labor of a broken pelvis. Then the boxes three, with 75lbs each filled with the gold of children in desperate need , kicked and pushed with our feet though the customs gate. Machine guns, Russian word not known to us using sign language the gap was broken and the guards understood and were gracious to me. I was humbled even now to tear. When once they knew who we were and what we were there for they bowed head to us in honor.
Looking up, our contact Igor had sign in hand; his face shone like and angel to me worn with a life of hardship, his eyes smiled. As soon as we cleared the port he and his driver came to us delivering us our burdens. As the outer doors opened a sting of 18 below hit us crisp and clear. Coughing our lungs soon adapted, winter in Russia. The men loaded up the van; the driver had kept the engine warm for us, the exhaust was stifling. My husband was now teamed with other men and was able to finally rest. I could not breathe the smells of Russia, tears welled.
A step back into 1945, roadways deeply pot holed and a type of madness wheeled about as pedestrians mingled with autos strange and unknown to us, but we, we rode in a VW van and we found a lot of humor in it. Our driver played American rock and roll on a cassette tape well worn with years of use. Our eyes blinked full of the sights of this ancient land. Buildings older than anything we had ever witnessed. They took us to a large court yard that was stepped back into the days of walled cities. Keep voices low came a stern warning, it will cause danger for us if the neighbors hear you. Up many steps to an apartment that was bared with a great outer door then after the locks turned we saw the inner door much like an American home; opened to a lovely woman. Lucy was petite and fresh. It seamed we had become royalty. With great humility, welcomed and given the master (the only) bedroom while our hosts would sleep in the kitchen and in the small office Igor used to translate our documents. We left after the home received the boxes and cases. Lucy, Igor, the driver and the parents to be now driven off to deliver this long awaited life.
The air was icy and the van warmed with the exhaust of the engine it must stay thawed for if it froze we could be in danger. We then rounded a corner; Igor told us of the University, within this complex “the orphanage”… where birth would soon take place. Crowds of students surrounded the van as it threaded its way into a small alcove. We had arrived!
The steps of the orphanage looked like an ancient trail grooved with time. Ushered up to a room there within moments our new child would arrive. We removed our outer garments. Told not to let sweat accumulate on us for it would freeze on us when we left the building. The woman in the photo came through the door Russian words exchanged with Lucy she translated to tell us the child had just woke up. What a BEAUTIFUL girl! We held her and her little body fevered with an upper respiratory infection. Her face stressed, her breathing strained. I placed her on my lap face down and gently pounded on her back she coughed up mucus and smiled at the relief.
Moments later the woman returned she spoke Russian and Lucy told us the child must eat now we can come back tomorrow. Handing her back to the woman tore out my heart. The single most difficult thing a new mother could ever experience. They took her away. Broken gasps, then Russian “what’s the Matter with her”? ….. It pains her to hand the baby back said Igor. Lucy smiled we have much work to do. This has just begun.
