Retarded isn't stupid, mom! by Sandra Z. Kaufman.

Por:

Kaufman, Sandra Z

Detalles de publicación: Baltimore P.H. Brookes c1988.Descripción: xiv, 230 p. illISBN:

0933716966

Tema(s):

Clasificación CDD:

362.1/968588/00924 B 19

Clasificación LoC:

HV894 .K383 1988

Existencias
Imagen de cubierta	Tipo de ítem	Biblioteca actual	Biblioteca de origen	Colección	Ubicación en estantería	Signatura topográfica	Materiales especificados	Info Vol	URL	Copia número	Estado	Notas	Fecha de vencimiento	Código de barras	Reserva de ítems	Prioridad de la cola de reserva de ejemplar	Reservas para cursos
	Libro	Biblioteca de Mayagüez Colección General mb				HV894 .K383 1988 (Navegar estantería(Abre debajo))					Disponible			50000001910016

Total de reservas: 0

Descripciones mejoradas de Syndetics:

Sandra Kaufman tells the inspiring story of her daughter Nicole, a young woman with mental retardation who overcomes obstacles from childhood through young adulthood as she achieves independence, gets her own apartment, finds a job, and marries. This 10th anniversary edition features an updated photo gallery and epilogue. Copyright © Libri GmbH. All rights reserved.

Bibliography: p. 220-225.

Extracto provisto por Syndetics

Excerpted from Retarded Isn't Stupid, Mom! Revised Edition, by Sandra Z. Kaufman. Copyright © 1999 by Paul H. Brookes Publishing Co. All rights reserved. Prologue: Nicole at 2 Years Old The downpour stopped as quickly as it had begun -- which was typical during the rainy season -- and the sun again burned down. Steam rose from the tarmac around the troop transport plane. "Probably saw a lot of use in Korea," Matt said, eyeing the old DC-3. He shifted our 2-1/2-year-old daughter, Nicole, from one arm to the other. Since the end of the war in 1953, 5 years before, troop transports had been used for more mundane purposes, such as carrying military families to and from the United States. Airmen rolled out the stairs, and we fell in line to board the plane. Nicole reached over and patted the baby in my arms. To her delight, her brother made a bubble. She laughed and clapped her hands. The line moved quickly, and we were soon settled in our seats. The plane taxied for the takeoff, and then it lifted into the sky, taking us away from the Panama Canal Zone and the army post that had been our home for the past 3-1/2 years. Nicole cried and cried; the many changes from her familiar routine were too much for her. Finally, however, exhaustion won out, and she fell asleep in Matt's lap. As I covered her frail body with a blanket, I again pictured Dr. McCall and Gorgas Hospital. Shuddering, I looked out of the window and forced myself to think of other, happier things -- like Los Angeles, where we would be in a few hours. Matt and I had met in Los Angeles 4 years ago. How serendipitous it seemed, as I looked back -- me, a dancer whose world was made up of ballet studios and theaters, meeting Matt, a lieutenant teaching armored tank maneuvers in the desert. Two months later we had married. My throat tightened. Nicole had been conceived in Los Angeles. Were events coming full circle? Were we bringing her home to die? That's what the doctor had said, wasn't it -- that she might die? I looked down at her -- at the wispy blonde hair and the dainty nose and mouth -- and events from the past 2-1/2 years came tumbling back. The spinning in my brain receded, and I opened my eyes. A blinding circle of light glared down on me. I turned away. Hazy figures in white moved about nearby. The pain is gone. This must be the delivery room. I must have delivered the baby. "You have a little girl," one of the figures said. A girl. How marvelous. "Is she all right?" My words slurred from the anesthesia. It was a routine question. I had no cause to think anything would be wrong. "We had a little trouble getting her to breathe, but she seems to be just fine," the nearest figure said from behind his white mask. I recognized him as the on-duty medical officer from the night before. "She's very small though, in spite of being full-term . . . only 4 pounds, 7 ounces." "May I see her?" I begged. Through my myopic eyes, she seemed to be lying in the drawer of a gleaming stainless steel cabinet. "Just another second or two," he said. He completed his examination and then, lifting a bundle of white blankets, he placed her beside me. I laughed with amazement at the miracle Matt and I had created. Slowly I worked my finger into her curled fist. "Hi, Nicole," I whispered, for Matt and I had decided on that name months ago. She twitched and wiggled while I watched. The doctor interrupted us. "She must go into an incubator because her birth weight is so low." He scooped Nicole up and handed her to a nurse who disappeared with her. That was all right. Matt would get to see her. I drifted off to sleep thinking how pleased he would be. Nico Excerpted from Retarded Isn't Stupid, Mom! by Sandra Z. Kaufman All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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