Her First Breath: A Novel

By Claudia Terry Pemberton

Her First Breath is a captivating story of the unlikely friendship between an elderly lady and a headstrong young woman who are thrown together by circumstances beyond their control.

Sofie Swanson is a private and willful young woman. Independent to the core, Sofie is horrified to learn she is sharing a hospital room with Naomi Moore, an elderly woman seemingly focused on bringing out the worst in her.

Sofie, a Yale Law School graduate and attorney, is determined to blame God for her unhappy lot in life. Naomi, a religious and motherly woman born and raised in West Virginia, praises Him for her life. Perplexed and intrigued by her new roommate’s unending faith in a God she does not know or understand, Sofie soon unearths parts of herself she would rather leave buried. As an unlikely friendship ensues, Sophie embarks on a profound journey to a new beginning she never could have imagined.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Sep 28, 2018
• ISBN: 9781532058172

Claudia Terry Pemberton

Claudia Terry Pemberton is retired from the Cabell County Public School System where she worked for thirty-eight years. The award-winning author of the novels, Love Leaves No One Behind, Love Leads the Way, Her First Breath, The Cost of Her Heart, The Butcher’s Run, Seeing with the Heart, and Come Back to Me is a proud member of the Military Writers Society of America, the West Virginia Writers, Inc., and is also a PRO member of the Romance Writers of America. Claudia resides in Huntington, West Virginia.

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Copyright © 2018 Claudia Terry Pemberton.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-5320-5818-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-5817-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018911501

iUniverse rev. date: 09/27/2018

Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgements

1     First Impressions

2     Second Impressions

3     The Battle Begins Again

4     A Crack in the Veneer

5     Small Kindnesses

6     It’s Over

7     Where Do We Go From Here

8     Unforeseen Complications

9     A Broken Child

10   At War

11   Day of Reckoning

12   Naomi

13   The Reprieve

14   Goodbye

15   One Day at a Time

16   Quid Pro Quo

17   Chemo Begins

18   Premonition

19   Loss

20   Begging Forgiveness

21   Derek

22   Confidant

23   Nightmares

24   Death Comes Calling

25   Life Altering Decisions

26   New Houseguests

27   A Saving Experience

28   A Turn for the Worse

29   The Vigil

30   The Secret

31   Aftermath

32   A New Outlook

33   Someday Comes

34   A New Beginning

35   Naomi’s Legacy

From The Author

Bibliography

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my friend, Angela C. Juniper, LPC. Angela not only freed me to write this story, but most importantly, she freed me to create and live my own story.

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank Anne Hammack, RN, BSN, for her invaluable assistance in the research for my book. Thank you, Anne, for sharing your expertise in the field of breast cancer with me.

I would also like to thank Dr. Lowell Anthony, M.D., Dr. Shawn Coffman, M.D., Dr. Patrick McGrath, M.D., Dr. James Morgan, M.D., and Dr. Lesley Wong, M.D. for saving my life.

To my editors: Allyson, Bonnie, Carolyn, Karen, Kay, and Keri, thank you from the bottom of my heart for all of your hard work on my behalf.

1

First Impressions

The pre-dawn outline of historic Boston, Massachusetts, scrolled past the car window like a flickering film being projected onto a darkened movie screen. Glowing streetlamps cast shadowy lights onto row upon row of Victorian-style apartment buildings and businesses. Identical in design, the slender, turret-topped structures differed in one way only—their color.

Relatively new to the Boston area, Sofie felt relieved to be a ride service passenger rather than the driver. Not only did it afford her the chance to appreciate the beauty of the city, it saved her from having to navigate uncharted territory in the dark. She would be doing enough of that once she reached her destination.

Peering through the windshield from the back seat, Sofie gasped in awe. The variegated pink and turquoise impending sunrise captivated her. The scene rivaled anything Vincent Van Gogh could have painted.

Nice, isn’t it? the scruffy-bearded driver asked. His toothy grin lit up his reflection in the rearview mirror.

Yes. It’s incredible, Sofie whispered.

The driver smiled again. Are you visiting our fair city?

No. I live here, Sofie answered, regretting that she had opened the door to conversation. She would have much preferred a silent ride.

Oh … the way you were looking around, I just assumed that you were a visitor, the driver said.

I was just looking … I just … Sofie trailed off. Without warning, her eyes filled with tears. Feeling like a fool, she quickly wiped them away.

The driver’s gaze shifted to the mirror again; this time his expression reflected pity. Sofie despised that look.

A few seconds later, he spoke again. If you’re not in a hurry, I could drive through the park. It’s beautiful this time of morning.

Rummaging through her purse for a tissue, Sofie sniffed and forced a smile. Oh, no, thank you, she said. I have an appointment I have to get to.

The driver nodded.

Moments later the car arrived at Sofie’s destination.

For a second, she contemplated telling the driver to take her back home. If only she could. She actually toyed with the idea before finally paying the fare, collecting her overnight bag, and exiting the car. Standing in the early morning light, she leaned her head back and stared up at the dark blue sky. A few stubborn stars lingered as if refusing to be outshined by the ever-encroaching sun.

Sofie lowered her head and inhaled one last breath of freedom.

The hospital’s massive sliding glass doors parted. On shaky legs, she crossed the threshold. The sickening and familiar smell of antiseptic immediately filled her nostrils.

A receptionist sitting behind a crescent-shaped counter greeted Sofie with a smile. May I help you? she asked.

I’m here for surgery, Sofie stated. Saying the words aloud made her knees grow even weaker.

And your name?

Swanson … Sofie Lynn Swanson.

Okay then, Miss Swanson, just take a seat in the first cubicle to your right and the technician will get you admitted.

Sofie thanked her and proceeded to the area where the receptionist pointed.

The technician, a female who looked to be in her early twenties, motioned for Sofie to take a seat.

And your name? the technician asked robotically. Sofie repeated her full name and watched the young woman’s fingers dance across the keyboard.

I pre-registered on the phone yesterday, so I should already be in the system, Sofie said, growing slightly impatient.

As the woman stared at the screen, her countenance softened. Your information is here, she answered. I just need to verify it.

Sofie could tell by the change in the technician’s expression that the computer had revealed the nature of her admission. After a slight pause, the woman proceeded to ask Sofie a myriad of questions ranging from her home address to whether or not she had a living will.

After completing the lengthy process, she looked up at Sofie and smiled. Now that we have that done, we’ll get a wheelchair and get you up to your room.

Oh, I can walk on my own, Sofie said.

The technician shook her head. I’m sorry. I’m afraid it’s hospital policy, she said. Cocking her head to one side, she looked intently at Sofie. I’ve wanted to tell you this since you first sat down. I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you look a little bit like Marilyn Monroe. You don’t sound like her, but you resemble her a lot.

Sofie blushed. Truth be told, she had heard that before, but frankly, she couldn’t see the resemblance.

It’s your facial features and your blond hair, the young woman continued. You have blue eyes like her too. You totally look like Marilyn Monroe. I can tell that your hair is natural, she said, smiling. I’m jealous.

Sofie felt herself blushing. She was flattered but wasn’t much in the mood for compliments or small talk. Oh … she stammered. Thank you so very much.

She combed her fingers through her short, loose curls. Knowing that her hand could soon be massaging a bald head caused a knot to form in her stomach.

Returning her attention to the technician, Sofie thanked her again.

You’re welcome, the woman said, just as an orderly arrived with the wheelchair. This is Matthew, she said. He’ll be taking you up to your room. Good luck, Miss Swanson. If there’s anything you need, you just let one of our staff members know, okay?

Okay, Sofie answered. Easing herself into the wheelchair, she placed her overnight bag on her lap.

During the elevator ride followed by an endless maze of corridors, the orderly behind Sofie’s chair did his best to engage her in polite conversation. His efforts were to no avail. Sofie’s lips remained sealed. They stayed that way until he rolled her through the doorway of her room.

The sight of two beds aligned in one tiny room ignited an immediate response from Sofie. She snapped her head around in the direction of the orderly. Fighting hard to remain civil, she said through clinched teeth, I requested a private room. Does this look like a private room to you? Her tone rang of ugly sarcasm even to her, but still she continued. If I were being taken to a private room, as I had requested several weeks ago, it would be absent of that snoring old woman lying over there whom I have no doubt when she wakes will begin to pass gas and belch with every breath she takes.

Matthew’s muffled chuckle failed to amuse Sofie.

I’m terribly sorry, Miss Swanson, he said, but there aren’t any private rooms available right now. He knelt down beside Sofie’s chair and looked up at her. I assure you, Miss Swanson, I checked. There simply aren’t any at this time, but as soon as one becomes available, you’re on the list to be moved immediately. The corners of his mouth curled upward forming a tentative smile. His sympathetic, brown eyes evidenced his sincerity.

Sofie felt a slight pang of guilt for her childish, ill-mannered behavior. She sighed, thinking it odd how cancer had affected her. Before possibly robbing her of life, it had stolen her smile, her dignity, and now her etiquette. Phase One complete.

Remembering her manners, Sofie offered an apology. I’m sorry … uhm … her eyes scanned his chest in search of his nametag. Matthew, she said once she located it. I’m sorry, Matthew.

No worries, he said, grinning. He rose to his feet. I’ll put your bag in your closet over there. He pointed to two slender, conjoined cubbyholes with doors. You can unpack whenever you want. Would you like some help getting into bed? We can call for your nurse to help you get settled in.

No. I can manage on my own, she answered, all the while wishing that she wasn’t too stubborn to accept assistance. She wanted it. She needed it. So why did she find it impossible to accept help when it was gladly offered, or in this case paid for? Sometimes she loathed her own stubborn attempt at total self-sufficiency.

Okay then, if you’re sure you can manage on your own … Matthew said.

Sofie assured him that she could.

Your nurse for the day shift is Annie. She’ll be in shortly to get your I.V. started and stuff. Matthew began backing the wheelchair out the door. See you later, Miss Swanson. It’s nice meeting you.

"Thank you, Matthew," she replied.

He made eye contact and smiled. You’re welcome, he said, just before he closed the door.

Sofie sat down on the edge of her bed and glanced over at the frail-looking elderly lady lying no more than a few feet away. With each inhalation, an annoying snore exited the old woman’s mouth. The irritating sound bounced off the walls of the tiny room, making Sofie’s hair stand up on the back of her neck. She wondered how in the world she was going to tolerate being confined with this obnoxious old lady. No sooner had she completed her thought than the old woman’s eyes popped open.

Pretty convincing snore, huh? The elderly woman laughed.

Sofie gasped. You weren’t sleeping? she exclaimed. I can’t believe that. Well, that’s just about the rudest thing I’ve ever seen in my life, lying there eavesdropping while pretending to be asleep, Sofie said angrily.

The old woman’s smile faded as she raised herself up onto her elbow. In doing so, an obvious pain-induced wince distorted her pale face.

I’m sorry, Honey, the gray-haired woman said. I didn’t mean to be impolite. It’s just a cheap little hospital trick that I learned a few years ago. I know it wasn’t nice to do that. I’m sorry.

The words ‘a few years’ gave Sofie pause. Thinking that the woman had been ill for an extended period of time eased Sofie’s resentment slightly, but only slightly. What kind of person pretends to be asleep just so they can eavesdrop? she asked, making no attempt to hide her annoyance. She tugged at the stubborn buttons on her blouse. That’s quite childish, you know, she continued.

I know, but you can learn a lot about a person when they don’t know you can hear them, the lady explained. Did you know that?

Sofie didn’t respond.

I really am sorry, Miss Swanson, the old woman said as she stretched out a wrinkled hand which was dotted liberally with brown age spots. Once again, she grimaced. I’m sorry. She looked at Sofie with apparent anticipation of a handshake. She did not get one. Let’s try this introduction again, shall we? she persisted. Hello, Miss Swanson. My name is Naomi Moore. May I ask you a question? Without waiting for Sofie’s permission, the woman continued. Miss Swanson, do you know my Jesus?

Jesus? Sofie asked indignantly. She couldn’t believe her ears. This old lady must be delusional. Sofie’s resentment returned with a vengeance. Jesus? The Lord who is supposed to love and care for His children as a shepherd cares for His flock? she asked, her voice wrought with anger. "No. No, I do not know Jesus, nor do I wish to make