HANDLE WITH CARE JODI PICOULT PDF
JODI PICOULT T h e n u m b e r o n e I N T ERN AT I O N A L B e s t s e ll e r Handle with Care Handle with Care AL Handle with Care: A Novel · Handle With. Handle With Care (Jodi Picoult, ) explores the knotty tangle of medical ethics and personal morality in the case of a disabled child and her mother's attempt. Get Free Read & Download Files Jodi Picoult Handle With Care PDF. JODI PICOULT HANDLE WITH CARE. Download: Jodi Picoult Handle With Care.
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You were safer inside me than you would be once you were out. Just then the door burst open and Piper filled all the space with her assured voice and her bright pink parka. Her husband, Rob, trailed behind, carrying Emma, who was carrying a snowball. My contractions were coming every seven minutes. As another one rolled over me like a riptide, I grabbed the arm of the couch and counted to twenty.
I focused on that crack in the glass door. Trails of frost spiraled outward from its point of origin. It was beautiful and terrifying all at once. Piper sat down beside me and held my hand. Young men held bloody towels to their scalps; children mewed on stretchers.
I was whisked past them all by Piper, up to the birthing center, where Dr. Del Sol was already pacing the corridor. Within ten minutes, I was being given an epidural and wheeled to the operating room for a C-section. I played games with myself: If there are more men than women in the elevator, everything the doctors told me will turn out to be a mistake. Without me even having to ask, Piper had put on scrubs, so that she could fill in for Sean as my labor coach.
The operating room was clinical, metallic. A nurse with green eyes—that was all I could see above her mask and below her cap—lifted my gown and swabbed my belly with Betadine. I started to panic as they hung the sterile drape in place.
Suddenly the door flew open. Sean blew into the room on a cold streak of winter, holding a mask up to his face, his scrub shirt haphazardly tucked in. He came to the head of the stretcher and touched my cheek. And then, Sean was beside me, the heat of his palms on my shoulders, the hymn of his voice distracting me as Dr.
Del Sol lifted the scalpel. That was when I saw it: Something awful already has happened, I thought. And then you were crying, even though they lifted you as if you were made out of spun sugar.
You were crying, but not the hitched, simple cry of a newborn. Del Sol said to the OR nurse. Did I do that? I think, until the moment I heard you cry, a part of me had believed that all the sonograms and tests and doctors had been wrong. Sean peered over their shoulders. Perfect babies looked that way on the outside, and were that way on the inside.
And another: Willow, I whispered, the name that your father and I had agreed on. I had had to convince him. They weep. But I wanted to give you a prophecy to carry with you, the name of a tree that bends instead of breaking.
Handle with Care
Willow, I whispered again, and somehow through the cacophony of the medical staff and the whir of machinery and the fever pitch of your pain, you heard me. Willow, I said out loud, and you turned toward the sound as if the word was my arms around you. Willow, I said, and just like that, you stopped crying. I admit, I was being selfish.
I felt logy and fat, and I wanted to remind myself that I had once been good for something other than playing Go Fish with your sister and separating the laundry into whites and darks.
I left Amelia with a teenage sitter and drove to Capers. I immediately cleared off my work space and set about making my phyllo. Somewhere in the middle of it all, I dropped a stick of butter, and I reached down to pick it up before someone slipped and fell.
But this time, when I bent forward, I was acutely aware of the fact that I could not jackknife at the waist anymore. I felt you steal my breath, as I stole yours.
Now I wonder: Is that when those seven breaks happened? When I kept someone else from getting hurt, did I hurt you? Every half hour, Sean left to get an update: They think her ankle might be broken, too. Type III, he said. I lay in the hospital bed, smiling uncontrollably, certain that I was the only mother in the birthing center who had ever been delighted with news like this.
It was a collagen defect that caused bones so brittle they might break with a stumble, a twist, a sneeze. And yet the radiologist could still not conclusively say whether you had Type II, which was fatal at birth, or Type III, which was severe and progressively deforming.
Now I knew that you might have hundreds more breaks over the years, but it hardly mattered: When the storm let up, Sean went home to get your sister, so that she could meet you. I watched the Doppler weather scan track the blizzard as it moved south, turning into an icy rain that would paralyze the Washington, D.
There was a knock at my door, and I struggled to sit up a bit, even though doing so sent fire through my new stitches. You were fast asleep on your back, on the undulating foam egg crate with which they had lined the little plastic bed. There were bandages wrapped around your tiny arms and legs, your left ankle.
Book club discussion questions for Handle With Care
As you got older, it would be easier to tell that you had OI—people who knew what to look for would see it in the bowing of your arms and legs, in the triangular peak of your face and the fact that you would never grow much beyond three feet tall—but right then, even with your bandages, you looked flawless. Your skin was the color of the palest peach, your mouth a tiny raspberry.
Your hair was flyaway, golden, your eyelashes as long as my pinkie fingernail. I reached out to touch you and—remembering—drew my hand away.
I had a beautiful baby girl, who was as fragile as a soap bubble. As your mother, I was supposed to protect you. But what if I tried and only wound up doing harm? Piper and the nurse exchanged a glance.
Slowly, they placed the foam into the crook of my elbow. Hey, I whispered, cradling you closer. My hand, trapped beneath you, felt the rough edge of the foam pad. I wondered how long it would be before I could carry the damp weight of you, feel your skin against mine. But with you, even lifting you out of the crib could be a danger.
Even rubbing your back. I looked up at Piper. The day I had told her you were coming, she asked if it could be in time for lunch. Instead, she pretended that you had already arrived, carrying around her favorite doll and calling her Sissy.
Sometimes, when Amelia got bored or distracted, she would drop the doll on its head, and your father would laugh. You and I were fast asleep when the woman came into the room. I swam into consciousness, focusing on her uniform, her ID tag, her frizzy red hair.
The nurse leaned over with her stethoscope.
She frowned as she listened to your chest, and then suddenly you went limp. The nurse pressed a button behind my bed. Words flew like missiles: Near the end of the book, she goes out skating.
The ice breaks, and Willow, trapped underneath, drowns. As she drowns, she reflects that she was loved, and that this time, it wasn't her that broke. Amelia O'Keefe: Willow's older half-sister, who is overshadowed by her sister's illness. Amelia falls in love with a boy who has the same disease as her sister with whom she meets at a convocation for her sister. She lies and tells them that she has OI, but he finds out. Eventually the differences in their health leads to him breaking up with her which further pushes her into isolation since her entire family is occupied by the lawsuit.
She then develops bulimia and self-harms. She begins shoplifting from various stores and she dyes her hair blue. Sean eventually discovers her secrets after Piper brings them to his attention because pipes burst in their home from being eroded by the stomach acid caused by her bulimia.
Charlotte suggests that Amelia goes to a treatment center. Amelia, furious, states in court as a witness that Charlotte told Willow that she would never wish that Willow had never been born. Charlotte admits later on that they should have discussed the treatment center as a family before she and Sean made that kind of decision. Marin Gates: The lawyer handling the O'Keefes' case, although she is privately opposed to it.
Handle with care: a novel
She is adopted and searching for her birth mother, who she eventually discovers by chance on the jury for Charlotte's case. However, her mother tells her that Marin's father was a rapist and makes it clear she doesn't want to know her daughter. Marin accepts this and becomes closer to her adoptive parents.
Piper Reece: Charlotte's best friend and obstetrician, as well as the godmother to Willow. She is a competent doctor, although she takes an extended break from work during the lawsuit. She brings to Sean's attention Amelia's bulimia and self-injury. Rob Reece: Piper's husband. He is an orthodontist who works on many of the people in Bankton, including Amelia. His older brother, Stephen, committed suicide at the age of seventeen; the then-twelve-year-old Rob was the one to discover his body.
Although the lawsuit initially causes strain in Rob and Piper's marriage, Rob ultimately agrees to support his wife. Emma Reece: the daughter of Rob and Piper. She met Amelia through skating and became her best friend; however, she quickly casts Amelia aside after Charlotte sues Piper, and the two never reconcile.For my kids?
Then willow dies. Through the window, I could see the slope of the hospital lawn, covered with dazzling snow. Type III, he said. We listened to the symphony of whirs and beeps that surrounded you. I wondered if his mother was in the hospital, having another baby.
Take your fist and punch down the dough. She is adopted and searching for her birth mother, who she eventually discovers by chance on the jury for Charlotte's case. When I kept someone else from getting hurt, did I hurt you?
Ramirez gestured toward a woman standing nearby.
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