On November 17th, 1997, I was born at 11:47 pm, weighing in at 7 pounds and 11 ounces and exactly 19 inches in length. Unlike most newborns, I did not cry, instead, I remained silent, mute. The nurses immediately ripped me from the doctor who delivered me to run every test that they could think of. Unfortunately, they were all in vain because nothing was wrong. I was perfectly normal -my lungs were worked well, my body temperature was normal, and I drank a sufficient amount of my mother's breast milk. I was fine. After five rainy and stressful days, the doctors threw in the towel and allowed my mother and father to take me home.
At home that night, my exhausted mother cradled me in her freckled arms, relieved that her new baby girl was finally here. She tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear and smiled at me. That radiant smile of hers became my very first memory of her.
But, even though her smile was reassuring, her brown eyes held worry like a prisoner. Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months, but, I still remained soundless, not a peak has been heard from me. She would call the hospital and the ER with questions and concerns. Alas, her questions hadn't been met by answers. Father had to incessantly soothe Mother. Every morning and every night, he would make her a cup of herbal tea and, while doing so, he would sing. His sweeter-than-honey voice became my very first memory of him.
On a sunny May day in 2000, Mother and Father took me to the little park in our neighborhood. After seeing an endless amount of doctors and child psychologists, one peculiar man with a bushy mustache instructed my parents to start taking me out to public places -parks, the mall, even movie theatres. He insisted that it would open me up to be more social and, eventually, to speak. Convinced that it was bound to work, Mother and Father took me to parks, they would set up playdates with their couple friends, and even enrolled me into an expensive daycare, all in hopes that I would say at least one word. To their disappointment, I stayed quiet as ever.
The next day, I was taken to yet another doctor who thought that they cure my silence.
"Please, is there anything else that you can do?", my mother begged.
The doctor shook her head apologetically, "I've performed every test on her. All of the results came back normal."
"Are you sure?", my father questioned, "You can't prescribe or recommend anything?"
Hesitantly, the doctor began, "Well..."
"Well what?", both Mother and Father demanded, both almost out of their seats.
"Well, I can send you to another doctor who specializes in mental disorders, but, there's a $150 copay to see him.", she informed us.
My parents looked at each other for a moment and some kind of silent agreement was formed between them.
They both stand up, Mother hoisting me onto her hip. "Thank you very much for your time, Doctor Martinez, but, we can't afford the copay at the moment." Father was already opening the door for Mother when the doctor stated, "I'm sorry that there's nothing else that I can do regarding her lack of speech, but, if there's anything else that concerns you, I'm happy to assist." My mother nodded gratefully for her offer and left the room.
Author's note: Hello, readers! I hope you enjoyed this first chapter of Unspoken. I don't know if there are other stories that are the same as mine, but, oh well! Please, leave reviews and comments about the chapter. Thank you! :)
