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Petite Belle How I Got My Name
By Petite Belle
AuthorHouse
Copyright © 2012 Petite Belle
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4685-0983-0
Chapter One
The Miracle
It was on this day a miracle happened! It was a cold, brisk day on January 9th at 9:45 a.m.; the year was 1945. A tiny baby girl entered this world. She weighed less than a pound. My name is Petite Belle. I am the world's oldest, smallest, premature baby to make it. This is my story.
I was delivered by Natural Birth at my parent's home in Middendorf, S.C. Middendorf is a small, sleepy hollow town in Chesterfield County, S.C. It is nestled between McBee and Darlington, S.C. I was told that the doctor was attending to my mother when they heard a faint jingle of a cry. It was my cry. "I am alive!" I exclaimed with this forceful jingle.
My delivering doctor name was Dr. Walter R. Wiley of Chesterfield, South Carolina. His medical records stated that my mom was six months pregnant when I was born. I am child number seven of my mom's multiple births. She had nine children that lived. My mom's multiple pregnancies surely rendered her experience enough to know how many months pregnant she was without a doctor's examination. My older siblings were delivered by mid-wives. Dr. Wiley was summoned to my home because my mother was in labor and in great distress. I never entered a hospital. I was seventeen years old before I entered a hospital as a patient. I didn't have any of those massive machines and tubes running out of my body as a new born. As a matter of fact, these methods of life support were not even known of, at this time. After my birth, Dr. Wiley stayed at my home day and night without leaving. My oldest sister said he slept on the Davenport; which is a love seat. My eldest surviving brother, Mr. Arthur Hammonds, said he remember Dr. Wiley sleeping on the edge of my parent's bed. Arthur remembers talking to Dr. Wiley. Buster, as we call him, said the doctor was warm and friendly. It's not determined how long Dr. Wiley stayed at my home. You better be sure, he was convinced that I was out of danger before he left. It was his unconventional medicine that saved my life. Dr. Wiley was known as a healer among the people of that rural community at that time. I am grateful of the memories of this giant, brilliant man who saved me.
In June of 2011, during a visit to North Carolina with my brother, I learned of a new revelations concerning my birth, which I had never heard before. My brother, Buster, is the second oldest child of my mother's children. As soon as my brother, my niece and I started talking about how I got my name, Petite Belle, Buster started telling the story of how tiny I was. He said you could hold me in one hand. He told us the story of how Dr. Wiley laid at the foot of my parents' bed; my mother was at the top of the bed. Anytime Mama made a sound, the doctor was right there.
Dr. Wiley caught a nap now and then. He said I was lying next to the doctor's head. Dr. Wiley kept repeating, "I am going to save this one; she is going to live." Arthur remembers Dr. Wiley praying. Every time I made a sound, Dr. Wiley's eyes popped open. He didn't allow anyone to hold me; not even my mom. Buster remembers people coming from miles around to see me, this tiny baby, and the doctor. At this time, having a doctor at one's home was a big deal. White people and Black people alike came to see this tiny miracle. He remembers some of the families' names like The Linton family; they were our neighbors. Also, the Hick family, the Matthews family, McBride family, and Gus Katter's family came to visit. The Katter's were my family friends. They help raise my older siblings. They gave my brothers employment doing odd jobs. Arthur is the last living person in my family that knows anything about my birth. I knew Dr. Wiley slept at my parent's home, but I didn't know that I was next to him. I asked Buster did he see how Dr. Wiley wrapped me with the cotton. He didn't remember anything about the cotton. He also said he didn't know how Dr. Wiley maintained his practice. Each time the doctor left our home, within a short time, the doctor came right back. "He came back and forth so many times; it seemed as if he never left." Buster said. Buster said our father was a sharp dresser. He always wore a suit and tie. He was never seen without that hat. He would dress up came the week-end and take the old school bus to town. He frequented old black house parties. Buster remembered mama and daddy dancing to jazz music. They had a stereo system that you winded up. They lived in a log cabin, long before my time. Buster remembers a cougar was trying to get in the cabin from the top and daddy shot it. When buster told the story, you could hear the pain in his voice. I never asked him about mama and daddy's break-up, which was extremely difficult for them to talk about. I was very happy that he shared these stories with me.
Chapter Two
Living Determination
By now you are wondering how in God's name did they kept me alive. Today, with the massive machinery and the tubes running in and out of the tiny preemie, they still don't save most of these babies born premature and weighing below 400g. It was unheard of, if not at all to save any baby as tiny as myself. This was post WWII. Right after the war. Dr. Wiley used my parent's wood burning kitchen stove as my incubator. Our kitchen stove had an upper compartment called the warmer. The most important task to achieve for premature babies is to keep them warm. They must be kept warm. I have a vivid memory of our wood burning cooking stoves. I remember going with my oldest sisters to pick up wood for the stove. We had wood burning stoves for warming the house also.
When you think about it, wood is and was the cheapest and less polluting form of keeping warm. At the turn of the century, most of the south's income was farming. I was born as World War II was ending. Figure 1 is how our wood burning kitchen stoves were constructed. The Stove was made of cast iron basically. The top of the stove and oven are constructed as our stoves are today. The body of the stove, what we call the oven today, was where they placed the wood. The top of the stove is pretty much the same. There were four eyes; these eyes could be removed to put wood into the stove and stir the wood so it would burn better. These eyes were where pots were placed on to cook. There was a round tin pipe running from the top of the stove, through the warmer; and propelled smoke out through the chimney. The warmer had a door to open and put food in; this was my incubator. The tin pipe allowed smoke to escape through the chimney. The heat from the pipe kept the warmer warm.
My oldest sister, Mrs. Annie Eugenia Borden of Cincinnati, Ohio is one of two people alive today that have details and knowledge of my birth and survival. Annie was only seven years old when I was born. Her memory and knowledge is tremendous. Annie remembered Dr. Wiley wrapping me in cotton before putting me in a box and placing me into the warmer section of our wood burning stove. When Annie spoke about my birth and survival, she took us on a memory trip; she captured our imagination. Her exact words were, "You looked like a bail of cotton". These words stayed with me for the majority of the ten years that it took me to write this book. I could not figure out why Dr. Wiley wrapped me in cotton. I am a firm believer that if you desire something, then give it to God, ask and it shall be given. I figured out conditions had to be created for me as they were in the womb. It was important that my agitation and movement be kept at a minimum.
The movement caused the heart rate to go up. Dr. Wiley created a "cocoon for me to grow and thrive in. Give it to God." he said. The cotton helps the heat to be distributed evenly, instead of going directly to my skin. When I was looking through a dictionary one day, I saw this cocoon. I grew up on a farm with plenty of fields and woods to explore, with beautiful nature all around me. There were almost any fruit that one could imagine growing. There isn't too much that grew and thrived in that environment that I didn't see. I had seen a moth before it evolved into a butterfly. I can imagine myself, the size of a cell phone in a make-shift cocoon. Imagine that! Finally, I had my answer; wrapping me in cotton protected my entire body. I was allowed to thrive and grow in a womb-like environment.
Annie's knowledge of my birth and circumstances surrounding my survival is unbelievable. I asked Annie how she knew so much about my birth. She answered, "I was nosey." She wanted to know everything. She watched their every move. Whenever and whatever she asked Mama, mama would explain it to her. Up until Annie's death 1 1/2 years ago, all you had to do was mention my name, Petite Belle, and Annie's memories started to play.
She said Dr. Wiley checked my insides by observing me. At my prematurity, there isn't very much subcutaneous fat. You could see a baby's veins through the skin. The skin is like liquid jelly. My doctor was so advanced; he was able to monitor my organ by their pulse. Annie said she remember doctor Wiley didn't allow me to be in the light much. He kept me in the dark mostly. She said, "When there was something wrong, you really larmed up the place." I had very good lungs and at this point, it was obvious. Annie said the doctor shaped my ears and nose as she watched.
Chapter Three
Survival Is Key
My mother told me and reminded me over and over again that I weighed less than a pound. I was the size of a small tape recorder; you could hold me in one hand and I would fit perfectly. She said my head was the size of a tangerine with straight, black hair. My hair has always been jet black. Mama said I was red and wrinkled. I didn't have eyelashes and I had a faint amount of eye brows, no fingernails, and a thin layer of toe nails. The medical research article that I read states that an infant of my prematurity has these characteristics.
Mama mesmerized everyone with the story of my birth. She didn't tell me too many details. I believe she felt that I was too young to understand. I remember Mama saying that Dr. Wiley stayed at our home after I was born. He then traveled from his practice in Chesterfield County, Cheraw, South Carolina to our home some seventy or more miles round trip. Dr. Wiley made this trip four, five, and six times a day to monitor my progress. I can't imagine my parents sleeping for a long time either. Dr. Wiley probably couldn't sleep much as well. Remember, he had this ageless, cell phone-sized fetus that was in stable condition, but you never know how the tides would turn. He must have been elated that my condition progressed well. Dr. Wiley instructed Mama to squeeze milk from her breast and feed me with a medicine dropper. That is the only instruction that I ever heard that Dr. Wiley left for my mother.
I have written my story some ten to fifteen times. At first, I don't know why, but I was frightened! My next reaction was tears. My story is such a miraculous happening; I am brought to tears every time I tell my story! Today, I am overwhelmed with emotions. It doesn't get much easier. Today, I am at an impasse; it seems that I am hitting a brick wall. I can't seem to move on. I need to know about one of those life and death situations that one of those preemies suffered. I found information about what they termed an "ageless preemie" that seemed like it was going to make it. One day, it Coded CAC [Clear All Corridors]. This means the preemie was going into cardiac arrest. In spite of every method applied, it didn't make it. I became so upset. I was so emotionally moved by this story. I stopped everything and went to bed. I was sad for several days. For the love of God, this could have been me. The doctor who had that case was more upset than I! He stated that he cried after the baby died. Today, premature babies that survive suffer many complications and disease. Mental retardation is one condition most often suffered. Multiple sclerosis is another disease and many suffer lung disease. The only problem that I ever had that was associated with prematurity is GERD or Gastroesophageal reflux disease.
I told Annie I wish I knew what I looked like at birth. I didn't understand why someone didn't take a photo of me. I have always wanted to see someone born weighing less than a pound. I now understand that everyone was focused on keeping me alive. As I learn and understand the plight of an ageless fetus, I now know that there was no room for a photo. Keeping me alive was everyone's main concern.
There was a great deal of turmoil at my home at this time. My parents separated when I was between two and five months old. Annie described my body to me. She said she remember me looking like a toad. From my shoulder to my pelvis, I was the same size, but my limbs dangled like a frog's limbs.
I always wanted to meet this wondrous doctor that saved my life. When I was first born, I had another name. When Dr. Wiley was convinced that I would make it, he asked my parent's permission to name me, "Petite Belle, you small beautiful baby." And so it was. He had a vested interest in this cell phone—sized little girl. I am glad that he named me. The name Petite Belle tells a story within itself. People always ask me how I got my name.
Chapter Four
Searching For A Wonderous Doctor
The second person that know about my birth is Dr. Walter R. Wiley's Daughter, Moonie Florence Bittle. For my 50th birthday, I wanted to do something spectacular. I made up my mind that I would find Dr. Wiley. I decided that I wouldn't stop until I found him. Someone suggested that I write to magazines, libraries, newspapers, and Black organizations in the South where I was born. It took two years before I heard from anyone. Finally, I called the Cheraw Chronicle Newspaper and another newspaper in Chesterfield, S.C. I spoke to the editor, Mrs. Diane Drudger. This was in 1995. She asked me to write a letter to her and Mrs. Drudger put me in touch with Moonie.
I didn't have a telephone at that time. Moonie wrote to me and asked me to call her collect. I don't know who was more proud to hear from each other; her or me. Our conversation was as if we were long, lost relatives. During one of my conversations with Moonie in 1995, she actually found my medical chart. A fifty-three year old chart! That's phenomenal within itself. My medical records stated that Dr. Wiley traveled from his practice in Chesterfield, S.C., some seventy or so miles round trip; to check on my condition. It's not conclusive, but I was told that he visited me until my mom moved away. The doctor determined that I was out of danger between ageless and infancy of two to five months old.
All of my life people have told me that I shouldn't take the story of my birth to my grave. Some people that heard my story believed me and others said, "You are lying" or "I don't believe you." I mean actual strangers have said, "Your mother didn't know how many months pregnant she was." They said, "Your mother couldn't have been six months pregnant." I am child number seven to live. Mama knew how many months pregnant she was. Dr. Wiley's medical notes stated that my mom was six months pregnant. I am a living miracle! No one else lived at my prematurity. I am the only one that made it. Moonie said she worked for her father since she was ten years old. I learned that there was a study about doctors taking care of the poor and African-Americans during the turn of the century, especially in the south. Dr. Wiley was profiled in that study. I conducted a search, but couldn't find anything recorded about Dr. Wiley.
It has been ten years since I began researching and documenting everyone's memory of my birth and circumstances surrounding it. Annie was there. She knew more about my birth than was stated in my doctors' notes. Now my study has brought me to information about the plight of other preemies. I needed to know what other small, ageless premature babies endured. I secured an interview with the director of the neonatal ward at Grady Memorial Hospital and Center in Atlanta, Georgia, Dr. Helen Williams, FAAP (Fellow in the American Academy of Pediatrics).
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Petite Belle How I Got My Name by Petite Belle Copyright © 2012 by Petite Belle. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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