Catalyst

CATALYST

A.P.Terrell

a portfolio

I would like to dedicate this collection of works to my supportive, loving parents who made all of these

creations possible. Thank you for pushing me, believing in me and giving me all of the opportunities to succeed.

I would also like to give a special thanks to the University of North Alabama and the staff that helped mold me into an exceptional writer. Thank you all for

your time and dedication.

Table of

CONTENTS

About the Author..........................................................2Creative Fiction.............................................................3 Unruly...........................................................................................5 On a Park Bench........................................................................11 Running From Real..................................................................17Poetry............................................................................22 Alfie.............................................................................................23 Beautiful Slumber......................................................................24 Ivy Plate .....................................................................................25 Garbage Pile...............................................................................26 Flawless......................................................................................27 The Garden.................................................................................28 Bones Crack...............................................................................29 Nursery........................................................................................30 Technical Writing........................................................32 How to Have a Successful Breast Augmentation................................................................33

About the AUTHOR

People think that writing is not a profession. They are right. Writing is a passion. It is a need that cannot be contained. As a child, I allowed my imagination to run freely. One day I was a princess preparing for the King’s Ball and the next I was a pirate battling a sea monster in the middle of the raging ocean. As I grew older, I realized that I might never be those people. Therefore, I adopted the art of writing because it was the only way I would be able to become anything I wanted on any given day. Stories were within me and to keep them bottled inside was torturous. When I was a child, I read a poem by Shel Silverstein. It has stuck in my mind ever since I scrolled over the words. Despite the doubt and fear of embarking on an unknown journey, I always remember it to remind me that a writer is what I am and that is all I can be.

“Listen to the mustn’ts, child. Listen to the don’ts. Listen to the shouldn’ts, the impossibles, the won’ts. Listen to the never haves,

then listen close to me...Anything can happen, child. Anything can be.”

In May of 2014, I will be a graduate of the University of North Alabama with my Bachelor’s degree in Professional Writing. The majority of my creations from the time spent at UNA are collected within this book. I tend to write creatively, concocting short-stories and poetry but there is one technical piece bound in the pages. Inspiration for my work comes from observation of humans. Humans are the most interesting beings, in my opinion. I find myself looking at people and making up my own stories about their lives, which leads me to the title I have chosen for my portfolio: Catalyst. Catalyst is a term that is typically used in science, but it seemed fitting for this purpose. A catalyst is a chemical that causes an instant reaction. This mirrors the way that I can view a person in an everyday activity and suddenly create a ten page piece of fiction about that person I do not even know. Anyone can catapult me into a creative story and nothing can stop me when I begin to write. That is also why I chose to add photographs to this work. The pictures are only snapshots that were taken at different points in my life with the people who have inspired me the most over the years. Creativity is my strength and no matter what type of job I secure I would like to incorporate creative writing into my future. I am willing to take risks and find new ways to express my talent. I am still unsure of where my path is leading me but I know that writing will pave the road of my journey.

-Alexandria Paige Terrell

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CreativeFICTION

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There are days that, let’s face it, just are not fit for a movie. Some days are simply days and that is why I write fiction. In a fictional world, anything can be. It is always exciting no matter what is happening. Being an only child drove me to embrace my creative talents because there were times when I just needed to occupy my mind. The need to keep myself entertained has followed me through my life and helped me through my own story with the help of my characters. The following three stories fit the catalyst idea flawlessly. They were created on a whim because of a single sight or thought. Each one was only a word that morphed into a piece of art. Unruly was born by the word itself. I do not remember where I heard it or why it stood out in my mind. Unruly. The word rolled like waves over my tongue until a lonely woman was standing with her toes in the sand reminiscing on a love long past. Running from Real was developed on the repetitive drive to work one day when I saw a young woman jogging down the highway. I watched her ponytail flick from side to side in the rearview mirror and determined that she was running from something far more than met the eye. As for On a Park Bench, I cannot recall how the story came to be but I do remember standing at work, staring at the lady sitting on a bench and transforming her into one of my more memorable characters. As you embark on the journey with Sarah, Julie, and Emmy please know that they will always hold a special place in my heart because they are the depiction of the emotions we each repress.

UNRULY“I cannot believe I fell for your twisted plan!” Sarah slammed her suitcase onto the floral

bedspread of the beach themed room. Mascara streaked her splotchy face. “I cannot believe you,” she whispered as she collapsed onto the bed and buried her head in her hands. “You have to face this, Sarah,” Liam said with a tinge of anger in his tone. “I know it was hard on you but not everything revolves around you. At least not anymore.” Sarah raised her head and glared at the man in front of her. His caramel hair was frizzed from running his hands through it in anguish. “What is that supposed to mean?” She asked defensively but she knew what he meant. “When you were with him it was all about you all the time. ‘Sarah this and Sarah that’. It’s all I ever heard!” He ran his hands through his hair again and made it stand up unnaturally. Sarah rose from the bed in a leap of fury. “You still think this is all my fault!” “That’s not what I said,” Liam defended. “I have lived in the same house with you for three years. I took your offer because I needed help, not because I needed your judgement! I know what you are thinking when you look at me sometimes. I know exactly how you feel. You will never forgive me.” Sarah stormed from the room fueled by wrath and sadness. The door slammed behind her. “You have no idea how I feel,” Liam said, unlatching his suitcase. Sarah hurried into the stairwell hoping that Liam would not follow her. She crumbled onto the steps of the fourth floor and allowed herself to fall apart. She buried her head in her hands. Her body shook until her tears no longer tasted of salt. The sound of a slamming door bolted her to her feet. She did not want Liam to find her. She could not stand the sight of him. Running her hands through her hair, smoothing the fly-aways from her face, she slowly descended down the stairs. Upon entry to the lobby, she paused. She could see the waves rising up from the depths and she could feel her heart beating in her throat. Finally mustering the courage to push through the double doors of the building she inhaled the hot, salty air for the first time in three long years.

Unruly, sun-kissed strands swirled around her content expression slapping her cheeks gently and catching in the gloss of her slightly parted lips. Her face was soft, but serious. The sun

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danced over her expression as she breathed in the salty sea air. Her jade, almond-shaped eyes studied the horizon as if mesmerized by the perfection of the line dividing the sky from the sea. How miraculous it was that one vague line could play the divisor in two completely different worlds. A seagull squawked as it flew gracefully overhead; she did not move, but her mind soared. Soared like the wings of the bird that had now flown into the clouds, disappearing from her sight. She wondered if he had been crying out of happiness or sadness or possibly was he screaming just to, in some way, prove to himself that he was still alive. Her toes dug in the damp sand causing her thoughts to shift topics once again. What if each individual grain was every opportunity in each person’s life and all the footprints belonged to the people bypassing opportunity? Maybe it was to get to something of higher importance or perhaps because no one was really paying attention. Sarah had always thought too deeply into subjects that probably had no real meaning, but she believed there was reasoning for everything. At least that was what she was trying to convince herself. She had not moved in nearly ten minutes, though it felt like hours had passed. Her face was tingling in the warm, evening sun. Her arms fell limp by her hips, both legs remained straight, and both knees locked. She had always been told locking knees in nerve racking situations would cause fainting, but she knew she would hold her ground. She had become accustomed to the feeling of wanting to collapse to the ground, along with nausea and the taste of tears that was all too normal for her. The sun was beginning to lower, slowly fading underneath the surface of the water. Eventually she would be standing in the darkness. The beach was the one place she did not yearn to be in the dark, especially alone. Suddenly, a high squeal made her whip around. A lump caught in her throat, but her pulse calmed when she planted her eyes on the summer lovers behind her. “Babe!” A young Asian woman, probably eighteen, shrieked, disturbing the tranquility of the beach. A tan, American man, maybe a year older, ran after her. It was not hard to catch up to her seeing as to how her legs were a few inches shorter than his. He wrapped his arms around her pudgy, exposed midsection. The girl’s long, black hair danced around the playful couple as they embraced one another. She slapped playfully at his hands, but when he did not loosen his grip she smiled and rested her head on his chest allowing him to kiss her on the temple. “Don’t ever let her go,” Sarah whispered, only to have her words stolen by the salty breeze and lost in the abyss of the sea. She closed her eyes and allowed her memories to carry her away as she tugged at a loose button on her old, oversized white shirt.

She could almost hear the distant sound of an acoustic guitar. It drowned out the roar of the waves. That saucy, free spirited composure he had created played clearly in her mind and she allowed herself to drift into a bittersweet memory. She could feel her body spinning carelessly around a blazing fire. It was amazing to her that she had not tumbled into the flame because she was wrapped in tune with the chords that he strummed so elegantly. She tried to dance like the women in Dance with Me; the ones who danced so exotic and smooth. He promised to take her to Cuba on their honeymoon. So far, all she had was the promise of a ring, but that was enough for her. The thin, buttercup yellow cover she wore fluttered as she danced encircling her bronzed, fit figure. It was all that covered her red floral bikini that she knew would be on the floor of their condo within the hour. Over her shoulder she flashed a flirty smile and ran her fingers through her beach tousled hair. She felt sexy. She always felt beautiful when he looked at her. She could feel his eyes moving over her now as she frolicked around pretending to know how to dance. She cut her eyes in his direction and caught his wandering over her hips as they swayed seductively. There he was, feet buried in the sand, perched on a wooden bench put out by the condominium management. His light brown tresses curled around the bill of his khaki and olive plaid fedora. Smoke streamed from the lit end of a nearly burnt out cigarette. It amazed her how he could strum, smoke, and observe all at once. She was not even sure how to hold a guitar much less play one. Sarah snapped back to reality when the ocean slithered over her toes like a venomous serpent. The smile that had crept upon her face had been replaced with fear and tears welled in her eyes. She listened to the waves crashing onto the shore and tried to calm her nerves. Sarah inhaled deeply and fought to retrieve the memory, but it was gone. She looked at the glistening water, like rare jewels striving to lure her into the mysterious darkness, promising to be gentle, yet dangerous in all its beauty. Then she heard it; the one sound she had dreaded so badly. She shook her head in hopes of getting the sound to somehow go away, but it never did and it never would. She had to face it, but it was much sooner than she had hoped. He screamed her name, panicking as water filled his lungs. Tears rimmed her eyes as she gazed into the abysmal memory that had haunted her for three long years. The ocean was black in the cloudy, summer night. The only light was from the buildings lining the coast and the small flame flickering in the sand. His new white button down was thrown carelessly in the sand and her pale yellow dress was draped over his battered guitar. She

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cackled as he ran around her, arms outstretched, squeaking like a seagull. He frolicked by her, quickly planted a kiss on her rosy left cheek, and proceeded to dive head first into the eerie darkness. The water crept up and tickled her toes. She giggled again at the thought of her silly boyfriend, but her eyes were straining to search the tide. The laughing quickly died out and was replaced with uneasy breathing. She shuffled her feet and her eyes scanned frantically. “Eric,” she said in a quaky voice only to be answered by the waves that had all too suddenly turned vicious. She was becoming hysterical, debating whether or not to dive in after him. “Eric!” she shouted in a tone that frightened even her. That was when she heard him. The one sound she would never get out of her head. “Sarah!” he called. Over and over she heard his cry, but it was impossible to see where he had drifted. The waves nipped at her ankles and then her knees. She was not sure how she had ended up in the water but she was being lured further out by the waves. It was as if Poseidon had the one thing she wanted and was toying with her emotions. The waves crashed into her torso in attempts to keep her away from Eric. For a moment there was a pause between two waves and she caught a glimpse of his hand. She screeched his name. He tried to paddle towards her but the sea was too powerful. “Grab my hand!” she yelled, outstretching her arm. She was not sure if he had heard her, but it did not matter. She kicked something. Hard. Pain shot through her foot and splintered up her leg. Before she could scream in agony she was under a sheet of water. She inhaled the salty poison. Then, she hit it again. This time blood polluted the water when something ripped the flesh of her forearm. She jolted and miraculously fought her way to the surface. Though she could not see the wound she felt the blood pouring, however, her concern was staying afloat and finding Eric. The wind blew a fierce gust sending the waves into battle. Sarah was determined not to become the damsel in distress. She was going to conquer her raging enemy and save her beloved whom it held captive. In a great burst of courage and fury she catapulted towards Eric’s fading voice. Then, nothing. When she awoke the sun was breaking over the horizon. Sarah blinked open her eyes and made out a dark figure. She continued to flutter her eyes until the figure hovering over her became clear. “An ambulance is on the way,” the crouched figure said in a gruff voice. It was an elderly man. He was tan under his graying facial hair. His cap shadowed his eyes, but they were wide with fear. Sarah picked her head up out of the sand. Spots diluted her vision. She glanced

around and could make out the blood stained sand near her arm, an open tackle box’s belongings scattered around a fishing pole, and the tip of a log peaking from under the water’s edge. Her ankle was stiff and she knew that the log had been the culprit. Scanning the tips of the waves, she realized the only thing she did not see. “Eric!” she screamed, startling the man. She sat upright and attempted to stand. “Miss, please keep still,” the man pleaded. He grabbed for her as she began to topple over and caught her before her weakened ankle let her fall. She let out a great cry of pain. “Please,” she said. “Please tell me you found him.” Sarah looked into the old man’s face. It was aged by the winds of many years. The wrinkles around his mouth made him look crude and unpleasant, but the softness of his emerald eyes let her know that he was gentle and hurt by what he had to say next. “Who, miss?” Sarah’s heart sank. She screamed in her mind and tried to tell herself he was just being cruel, but the look on his face proved he was genuine. By then, crying was unstoppable. She buried her face in the man’s shoulder and sobbed until her head hurt worse than her aching body. At first, he was startled, but within moments he took Sarah in his embrace, careful not to squeeze her throbbing body. He closed his eyes as he held her like a father consoling his injured daughter. When the ambulance arrived, the paramedics loaded Sarah onto a stretcher and hauled her into the vehicle. She was not sure why, but she had expected the old man to get in the ambulance with her. Peering out of the open doors, she could see him brushing the sand off the knees of his worn khakis and gathering his fishing supplies. “Sir!” Sarah shouted, her voice becoming hoarse. “What’s your name?” The old man smiled. Sarah was hoping for a quick answer because her vision was beginning to blur and her head was pounding. Just before she completely blacked out he replied, “Thomas.”

*****

“Thomas! You better stop this minute!” Liam’s voice called from behind her. Sarah’s memory was interrupted. She found herself sitting in the sand with her feet tucked underneath her and tears streaking her sun kissed face. She wiped them away quickly along with the memory just in time for the three-year-old to tackle her. “Hi, baby,” she said as the little boy cackled. She grabbed him off his feet and tickled his

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sides. He erupted with laughter then ran back to the man whom he had ignored before. Liam bent down and scooped the child into his bulging arms. “So much for listening to Uncle Liam, huh?” Thomas laughed again as Liam put him back on his feet. Thomas ran to a pile of sand and started digging. Liam sat in the sand next to Sarah and the pair was silent for a moment. “I didn’t want to lie to you,” Liam began. Sarah rolled her eyes and looked at her son. “I knew if I told you we were coming to the beach you wouldn’t come. The mountains are the only place you will go anymore so I had to tell you that was the plan.” “Why did you bring me here? What did you think would happen exactly?” Sarah questioned, trying to keep her voice down. Liam hung his head and drew a circle in the sand to stall. “What is it? What is your reasoning?” Sarah snapped. Liam sighed. “I thought if you could let my brother go you could finally see that we are in love with each other.” Sarah was still. Her eyes burned as tears welled in the rims. A lump formed in her throat and her stomach churned. She knew what he said was true but the pain of letting go was unbearable. “I can’t,” she said as she tilted her head towards the ground allowing tears to bead in the sand. Liam put his fingers on her chin and lifted her face towards his. Her eyes met his and for the first time since Eric died she saw Liam. Every time she peered into his eyes before, all she had seen was a faraway vision of the man she once loved. Her hands shook and her heart felt like a hand had a grasp on it as Liam leaned into her. His lips met hers with gentle passion. For the first time in three years, she felt her heart race and mind rest. Liam pulled back and Sarah opened her eyes to find him staring at her with an anxious expression plastered on his face. Sarah inhaled and melted. She turned her face towards the setting sun and let the warmth engulf her body. She slowly moved her fingers from the button of her tattered white shirt, across the sand, and met the hand of the man sitting beside her. She smiled at the sun as Liam intertwined his fingers with hers. The waves were calm, dancing up the shore, shells glistening in every motion. Then, only for a moment, somewhere in the distance, the faint chords of a traditional Cuban song could be heard, but they were gone as quickly as they had come.

On a Park BenchCharles Hamilton sat on a park bench for the first time in years. A small bird pecked at the

ground near his feet and a gentle autumn breeze made the leaves dance from the tree branches. Charles tilted his head up towards the sun to feel the calming warmth on his chilled skin. He wrapped his thin jacket tighter around his figure and shoved his hands into the pockets. A young boy let out a loud cackle as another chased after him. Charles turned his attention to the playing children and he could not help but reminisce. He had sat on many park benches watching his son play and grow until his little Raymond had grown enough and no longer had a desire for carefree, childish games. This particular park bench was not one that Charles had ever rested on. In fact, he had never previously stepped foot on Alabama soil. He was lost in thought when a voice interrupted his memory. “Excuse me,” said a rude voice. Charles snapped back to find a woman towering over him. “Can I help you?” He asked as politely as possible. “You can get off my bench,” the woman replied placing her hands on her hips. Charles was stunned at the hostility in her voice. He had always heard that Alabama was dripping with Southern hospitality. “I mean no disrespect but I believe there is enough room for the both of us,” he replied, gesturing to the empty portion of the bench. The woman grunted and plopped onto the edge of the seat. Charles was silent for a moment but the attitude of the woman enticed his interest. He shifted his eyes towards her. From underneath his sunglasses he could see her without her noticing. She was wearing freshly pressed khaki pants and a neat butter yellow sweater. The light shade of yellow looked stunning on her dark caramel skin. Her shoes were nicely polished and her hair was curled to perfection. She was very well put together but something about her seemed broken. Another child squealed with joy and Charles noticed a faint smile creep over the woman’s lips. “Are you waiting for someone?” He asked. “No. And I don’t want to talk,” she replied moving her purse between them as if putting up a silencing barrier. Charles smirked at the challenge. “I’m not from around here, Charles continued. “I’m from Virginia. I like it here. My wife always said this was the place to go for healing.” “Healin’,” the woman interrupted. “This ain’t a place for healin’ by any means. This is just

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the place you get stuck when you’re broken.” Charles turned towards her for the first time. “My son was healed here.” The woman’s interest was sparked. “What you mean?” “I’m Charles by the way. Charles Hamilton.” He stuck his hand out and waited. The woman snarled her lip at the gesture and reluctantly placed her hand in his. “Emmy. Emmy Walker.” “Pleased to meet you, Emmy,” Charles said with a smile. “So what you mean healed?” Emmy asked for the second time. “Before I just up and tell you my life story I think I may need to get to know you a little better?” Charles swayed the conversation “You can tell me or you can leave me be,” Emmy said, folding her arms and peering in the opposite direction of Charles. He gave a nod and proceeded. “Well, then I guess I will just tell you my story.” Emmy sighed deeply but did not object. “It was 1969 and they decided to play the “lottery”. I know you know all the details but being drafted and surviving is something people like to tell about. I remember when Alexander Pirnie dipped his hand into that container and pulled out the date. September fourteenth, my birthday. I used to love my birthday. My Eleanor would bake me the best German chocolate cake, one like you have never tasted. The inside would be so moist and the icing just perfect. Yeah, I once loved my birthday, but hearing it called that day made it seem like a curse.” Charles lowered his head. “I knew my country needed me and I did fight proud. The only thing that got me through that war was the image of Eleanor and Raymond waving to me as I left.” He shook his head and raised his eyes to catch Emmy’s. “I didn’t think I would ever see them again.” Charles paused hoping that Emmy would have something to say. He longed for a good conversation with someone other than himself. When she did not respond he continued. “My son was born sick. I remember when he was a newborn, I would sneak into his room and lean over the crib just to make sure he was still breathing. He was always so small. No one believed he would live to see three-years-old. He was two, just had a birthday, when I was sent to Vietnam. I had been on tour for about nine months when I received a letter from my wife saying that a relative of hers had passed in New Orleans. You know, I never did ask who that was. I think it was a nephew. Anyways, on her way home from Louisiana she and Raymond stopped at a little park in Alabama. Now I don’t recall where the park was. In fact, I don’t think she ever said. But she stopped at this little park and let Raymond just run. When they got back to Virginia

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it was as if every bit of his illness was cured! Whether or not it was Alabama or just God’s will, our Raymond was finally healthy. We never had another doctor’s visit or anything. He never so much as coughed. When I got home after a twelve month deployment I had almost forgotten what my wife and son looked like. It was a blessing to see my son run and play and be a kid for the first time.” Charles paused. “Are you alright, Ms. Walker?” Emmy was rocking on the bench and wringing her hands. She turned to look at Charles and tears lined her eyes. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Was it something I said?” Charles asked, placing a hand on Emmy’s shoulder. “Oh no, Mr. Hamilton.” She shook her head but did not stop rocking. “Just the talk of your son reminded me of my son.” “Did something happen to him?” Charles blurted before he realized that his question was inappropriate. Emmy stopped rocking and let her hands rest. “Everyone around here thinks I’m crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m just a woman with a troubled mind and broken heart.” Charles hung from Emmy’s words. “I come here every day to and relive the mistake I made. I deserve that pain ‘cause I have caused others so much more hurt than I ever intended to.” Charles was speechless but he refused to interrupt Emmy’s tale. She continued. “When I was a teenager I met Grant. He was a tall, handsome white man. To be honest, you remind me of him a little. He had icy blue eyes like yours. Mama and Daddy were against me dating “outside of my kind’. Oh, but I loved Grant more than I had ever loved a man before. We ran off in the summer of ’66 to this little town and got married. Look right across the road there,” Emmy pointed to a busy Shell gas station across the road. Charles followed her finger in confusion “There used to be a little church there and that’s where we got hitched. We didn’t have any money and we didn’t have a clue what we were going to do to get by, but we had each other. Grant was always ashamed of not being able to fight in the war. He had a bum leg that kept him home. Though he cried himself to sleep many nights, I couldn’t help but be happy he was home to help me raise our son, Clarence. We named him after my Daddy even though my folks never wanted anything to do with our mixed baby.” Charles shook his head. “Mixed babies are the most beautiful. My wife was blacker than coal and I am as white a snow but we made a handsome baby.” Emmy laughed. “I know what you mean. Our little Clarence had the best complexion of all the kids. I would watch him play with the other kids and smile at how much prettier he was

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than all of ‘em.” The pair laughed together and stared out over the group of children. Some giggled as they took turns on the swing while others waited patiently for their turn down the slide. Emmy lowered her head as if praying for the power to continue her story. “I never saw my Mama and Daddy again after I ran away,” Emmy said with a tinge of guilt in her voice. “Why is that?” Charles replied. “Just never had the guts to after what I let happen. I just couldn’t face ‘em. They hated me anyway.” Emmy clasped her hands together and rested her chin on them. Charles shook his head. “There is no way parents could hate their own child. “Mine did. They probably still hate me from their graves,” Emmy said, beginning to rock. She stalled. “What happened to your wife? You talk like she ain’t around no more.” Charles nodded and inhaled deeply. “My Eleanor. The cancer was just too much for her. She was a strong, independent woman. She was quiet and kept to herself, but she was a good one. She took care of Raymond and me.” “When did you lose her?” Emmy questioned in a sincere tone. “Three weeks ago,” he replied. “Oh my! How recent! I’m so sorry,” Emmy inched closer to him as to console him but he did not seem to need it. “We knew it was coming. I actually just went to visit her family in New Orleans. That’s how I ended up passing through here.” Charles smiled. “And it’s been a nice visit so far. Now do you want to tell me what happened that makes you such a bad person?” Charles asked, switching the mood of the scene. Emmy sighed and nodded as she continued her previous story. “It was his second birthday. Clarence loved to be outdoors. He enjoyed the birds and the bugs and the dirt. We had been at the park for about an hour. I was packing up the diaper bag when I heard the ice cream truck comin’. I had some spare change, which was rare, and I knew how Clarence loved popsicles. I wish you could have seen his little face when he had ice cream. It was an expression of pure bliss. I had laid out a towel for Clarence to sit on and he was playin’ with his new toy truck. I dug out the change from the bottom of my purse and told Clarence to stay there. I knew he wasn’t going anywhere and the ice cream truck was pulling to stop just a few feet from where we were sittin’. I hurried to the truck and glanced back over to see my son digging in the dirt.” “The dirtier, the happier, right?” Charles interrupted.

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Emmy laughed. “That’s so true. I remember I just shook my head at my filthy child and ordered a rainbow pop. The man on the truck had to dig to find one but he finally did. I thanked him and turned around to find the towel abandoned. I’ll never forget screaming for him. And I’ll never forget the tan station wagon that sped out of the parkin’ lot. I just know my baby was in that car and there was nothing I could do to stop them.” Charles sat in awe of the horrific tale he had just been told. His mouth was parted and dry. “Surely the police found him!” Charles cried as if trying to rewrite the ending. “It was 1969 and a tan station wagon. Pin-pointing the one with my son in it was like tryin’ to find a needle in a haystack,” Emmy replied. “We even had one back then. If only they had the technology then that we have now.” Emmy nodded and continued. “We searched for a long time. I never gave up but my Grant did. He took to the bottle after the abduction. All our money, what little we had, went to whiskey and paper. I must have printed a thousand missing person signs and put them everywhere. About three months after the disappearance I came home from puttin’ up signs to find my Grant sprawled on the kitchen floor with a .45 in the puddle of blood beside him. I went to the crazy house for a little while after that. That’s why all these folks call me Crazy Emmy. I was never crazy though. I was just messed up. I lost everything I ever loved in a matter of what felt like seconds. Of course, you probably have figured out that this is the park where I last saw my baby.” Charles stared blankly at the dirt in front of the bench. He could imagine the little boy and his mother enjoying a peaceful day in the sun and then it getting ripped from them by some wretched monster. “I cannot imagine what you have been through so I won’t say that I understand but I do feel for you. I can’t find words to console you.” Charles paused for a moment and then leaned over to Emmy. He took her in his arms and held her as her body shook. Tears poured from her eyes as she repented for her sin. Charles kept her in his embrace until her body calmed and she pulled away. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Emmy said. “It’s okay. You needed to let it out. And please don’t call me ‘sir’. It makes me feel old,” Charles said. Emmy forced a smile and then pursed her lips together to hold back more tears. “It doesn’t matter how much I cry there are always more tears waitin’ to fall.” The pair sat quietly for a few minutes. They each looked around at the beauty of the day that surrounded them. The sky was bright blue and filled with marshmallow-like clouds. Birds

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sang melodies from the trees that lined the far side of the park and children played effortlessly on the playground. Emmy’s body shook as she sniffled. It was that last thing that happened to let you know you were finished crying. Emmy inhaled the crisp, fall air and let it out with a relaxing sigh. Charles glanced at his watch and realized they had been talking for over an hour. Time had flown by quickly as time often does. “What does your son do for a livin’,” Emmy said, finally breaking the silence. Charles was proud to reply. “He’s a lawyer. Owns his own firm, too.” “How lovely,” Emmy replied with a smile. “I know you must be so proud. I like to think that my Clarence would have been somethin’ like a lawyer or even a doctor maybe. I don’t know how we would have gotten the money but I would have done anything to make that boy’s dreams come true.” Emmy paused. “I know this is going to sound crazy but sometimes I like to think that maybe my baby is still out there somewhere. Maybe the person who took him was not some awful psychopath. Maybe, just maybe, there is a chance that his life worked out. I know that’s just wishful thinkin’ from Crazy Emmy but it comforts me.” Charles nodded. It was all he knew to do. Emmy sat forward and pulled her purse into her lap. A smile was easing across her face again. She fumbled through the pockets trying to locate something that seemed important. Charles watched with eager anticipation. “Would you like to see my Clarence? I have a picture of him in here somewhere.” “Of course!” Charles replied. “I have a photo of Raymond from when I got back from the war. He lifted himself from the bench and retrieved his wallet. The couple excitedly ripped the old, tattered photos from where they were stowed and switched them. The color drained from Emmy’s face and Charles felt dizzy. A cool breeze blew through the park rustling everything in its path except Charles and Emmy. The two were frozen, gazing at the pictures. Charles leaned away from Emmy and began to gag. He felt his lunch rise from his stomach and watched it splatter on the ground beside him. He could hear Emmy’s sobs from the other side of the bench. Charles wiped his mouth as he glared at the old photograph. “It wasn’t her nephew,” he whispered. “It was my Raymond.” In the picture Charles held, Emmy sat holding a small boy with curly black hair and a big smile. His skin was the color of caramel and his eyes were icy blue. In the photo that Emmy grasped in her hand was of Charles dressed in uniform holding a small boy with curly black hair and a big smile. His skin was the color of caramel and his eyes were icy blue.

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Running from RealAdam Harding awoke to the sun creeping through his uncovered window pane. The

light was just peeking through the tall oak trees that lined Adam’s lawn, but it was enough to motivate him from his cozy, goose down feather pillow and matching comforter. His feet hit the sandy colored carpet with a thud and he stumbled to the bathroom. Adam flipped on the fluorescent light and blinked several times before seeing himself peering back from the mirror. Adam grunted. He did not like what he saw and he had not been satisfied in over a year now. He rubbed his hand over his graying stubble and then scratched his salt and peppered head. Everyone who ran into him at the grocery store or the post office told him how well age was treating him. You look great, Adam, they would say, but he could not help but wonder what they meant. Was it that he looked great for his age or great as opposed to prior years or was it that he looked great since Susan found out? Despite their reasoning, Adam could not help but think that they were only trying to make him feel better. After you have lived through the hardships he had endured, there was not much to feel about anything. Adam brushed his teeth all while contemplating shaving. He rinsed his toothbrush and gargled with the last swig of mouthwash. By that time he had decided against the extra maintenance. Who did he have to impress anyways? The only people he ever saw were those who picked up his garbage, delivered his mail, and occasionally the others who enjoyed a morning jog. He assumed many of them were trying to keep in shape, stay fit, and look young, but he had news for them. Life hits at some point-he was not sure when-and suddenly you look back to find your youth and good looks fading into the morning breeze. Adam moped back to his bedroom where he slung open his closet door and retrieved his blue jogging pants and a solid white t-shirt. He went to his dresser and rustled around for a pair of matching socks. He made his way into the kitchen where the aroma of fresh coffee engulfed the room. He flipped on the television to the local news and poured a cup of coffee, black. Plopping into a dining chair he slid on his glasses. Then, he picked up yesterday’s newspaper. Yesterday was Wednesday and that was Jack Daniel’s day at the Harding house. Today was Thursday which meant after his jog he needed to make a run to the liquor store. Thursdays were also Jack Daniel’s days in the Harding house. Adam skimmed over the headlines before searching the obituaries to see if he needed

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to scratch anyone from his phone book. It looked as if his old neighbor Joe Walker had passed on. Adam closed the paper and mumbled, “Joe, you lucky dog, you”. Adam walked to the sink and rinsed his coffee cup out before heading to the foyer to pull on his running shoes. When he leaned over to tie his left sneaker his back spasmed and pain shot through his legs. He cried out with pain and mumbled a few choice words before wincing back into an upright position. “I guess that’s my cue to stretch,” he said, rolling his eyes.

***

Julie Malone was awake. She had been for hours. She had gone to bed shortly after tucking Abby and Madison in to their bunk beds and downing a dark red glass of Merlot. She tossed for hours in the lonely, king-sized bed before turning on the television and delving into early morning infomercials. “If only they had a marriage saver for $19.99 plus shipping and handling,” she mumbled to the empty room. As four o’clock neared she flipped off the television and rolled over to a picture on her bedside table. She smiled at the photo, reminiscing on the day they made their vows. Only five years prior she was in her borrowed wedding gown and he was in a rented tuxedo, but she feared they were too young. Twenty-eight is not quite grown despite what one may think. She hugged her pillow and remembered the days when money was not the root of their relationship. They were broke and happy and now she was alone for the fifteenth morning in a row. The alarm clock shined bright red numbers that read 5:15 as it beeped. Julie peeled her eyes from the blown ceiling where she had been finding figures as children do to the clouds on a hot summer day in July. She rolled lazily towards the clock and hit it to shut it off. Exhausted, Julie pulled her body from the bed and planted her feet on the cool, hard wood. She tiptoed to the bathroom so not to wake the girls. She clicked the door closed and glared at her reflection. The dark circles under her eyes were more apparent than ever. She sighed and ran her fingers through her auburn, tangled bob. She skimmed her hair with a comb before she began her morning dental ritual. Growing up with a dentist father had scared her out of ever missing a day of flossing. She brushed, flossed, and rinsed and then made her way to the closet. She reached for her favorite blue running shorts and a plain white tank top. Julie crept slowly out of her bedroom and toward the neighboring door. She carefully pushed it open to check on her two children. Abby was still nestled underneath the covers, but Madison had kicked hers to the floor. To be twins, they were polar opposites. Julie pulled the door back to its original resting place and sauntered down the stairs. In the kitchen she went

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straight for the pantry where she kept her morning cereal bars. She took the last one from the box and tossed the empty container into the recycling. She removed a green apple sucker from the bin and placed it in the trash. She shook her head. After her meal bar she downed a bottle of water and headed to the closet for her running shoes. She laced the grey sneakers tightly before beginning her stretches. The two residents walked out of their houses and turned to lock their doors. Though it was a safe neighborhood, they were better safe than sorry. When Adam reached the end of his driveway he turned left as he did every morning and broke into a jog. When Julie left her home she turned right as she did every morning and did the same. Moments later, Julie looked up from the sidewalk only to catch Adam’s gaze. The areas around his eyes were creased from years of laughter and tears. There was a soft innocence in his stare that made Julie’s mouth upturn. She could not simply pass by her neighbor without a smile. There was no need to speak as their eyes locked. A rush of heat overtook both of them and their faces burned with shame. At once the couple diverted their eyes back to the cracked sidewalk. Adam could smell the fresh scent of apples shampoo in her fragrant hair as she swept past him. Julie could feel the yearning radiating from his experienced body as he brushed his arm against hers in passing. Neither of them looked back but they did not need to because the image had been burned into each of their minds for a long time. That evening after visiting his wife at the local hospital Adam decided to run off a mound of built up anxiety. When he left his quaint, little home he ran left as he always did. It was as if his feet were trained to navigate towards her. As he jogged he noticed the red Chevrolet James Malone drove was not in the driveway. He sped up his pace. When he reached the front of Julie’s home, he slowed to a halt. He was hidden in the shadow of the night’s cloudless sky. For a moment the house seemed empty until the light in the kitchen flickered on. He watched as Julie walked into the picture dressed in an oversized top and sweatpants. She was stunning. Julie retrieved a bottle of deep red Merlot from the highest cabinet and poured a glass. She drank the wine slowly and held the glass close to her chest. She closed her eyes and tossed her head back as she swallowed a sip of wine. When she was finished, she walked to the sink to tidy up then placed both palms on either side of the sink and stared out the kitchen window where Adam stood spying. The look on her face was pained. Adam knew she was suffering but there was no way he could help. He sighed and looked down at the sidewalk. When he looked back through the window she was gone. Panic swept over him when he heard the front door click open. “Adam?” Julie questioned squinting to see into the darkness. Adam hesitantly revealed

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himself to the street light’s glow. “What are you doing?” She asked without a sense of anger or fear in her voice. Adam took a deep breath but did not respond. Instead he took a step towards her driveway, and before he realized it he was on her doorstep. She smiled at him. “What I have wanted to do for a long time,” he finally responded. He placed his hands on Julie’s face and kissed her. The passion was intense and a fire blazed through both of their bodies rendering them helpless. Adam loved her. He had loved her from afar for too long. Every day he passed her on the street he longed for her. He wanted to be the man who was there for her, who cherished her, who wanted her. He wanted to be the man James was not. Suddenly, the world around him went dark. The only illumination was from the streetlight he was now standing under. The light in the kitchen had been turned off and he could make out the silhouette of the woman he loved retreating from the room. Filled with disappointment from his daydream, he turned and continued his late night jog. When Adam awoke the next morning he was on his couch with a bottle of whisky still grasped his hand. He looked at the clock and noticed that he still had time for his morning jog before the hustle of daily life began. He dressed quickly and walked out into the early morning. A sheet of dew was still masking the lawn. He traveled quickly to the end of his drive and looked to his left towards Julie’s house. There, parked in the drive, was her husband’s truck and there, stretching on the doorstep, was his love. Adam looked at her beautiful body twisting with such grace and elegance. He then looked to his right towards a new direction he never explored. He glanced back towards her. She had now moved swiftly towards the driveway’s end and was turning in his direction. Adam sighed and took his normal left turn. When he neared her, he did not look into her stunning eyes. Instead, he kept his eyes on the cracked concrete, but he could not help but smell her clean hair as she swept past him. The smell of her apple shampoo lingered with him as he turned the corner to see James’ truck heading down the road. He could imagine her leaping into her husband’s arms and kissing him. Adam stopped and watched as the truck passed. He took a deep breath and looked at his wedding band. He remembered that Susan liked apple shampoo even though she did not need it now. Adam stared down the road. The hospital was only five miles away. He broke into a jog and then a run. Finally, for the first time in three years, he was running towards the reality from which he had been running.

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Poetry

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When you hear people say, “it just happened”, you cannot help but wonder “how?” So when I tell you that poetry is just something that I have a knack for, I trust that you will accept it. I do not know when I discovered that I could write poetry but I do know that it has always flowed effortlessly from my fingertips. To me, poetry is not comprised of words or lines. Poetry is made of emotions. Every poem I have ever created has withheld a deeper meaning than just rhymes and rhythms. Most of the following poems were created for my Advanced Creative Writing class at UNA and the poem “Flawless” was featured in the 2013 edition of the university’s award-winning literary magazine Lights and Shadows.I seldom revist my poems after they are written. I feel that if I look at them I will see mistakes or parts that could be tweaked but that would require me to alter their character. Poems are not meant to be perfect. I find perfection in their blemishes. The most meaning can be held in a misplaced comma or an oddly capitalized word.I would like to tell you that the following pieces are meant to make you dig deep into your mind to decipher some extraordinary philosophical meaning but that would be lying. The following poems were created for people that I love, people that I don’t know, and people who left long ago.

AlfieIt’s one o’clock and he flips the tattered sign from Closed to Open

His van sits patiently until ten o’clock when he flips the sign back to Closed.

He takes a right out of the parking lot but I am not sure where he goes.

He may travel home to an extravagant house where his stunning wife, dressed in white satin, meets him at the door with a glass of Merlot. He may make his way to a backwoods, unkempt trailer behind his mother’s broken down home with the mange covered mutt constrained inside the chain link fence.

Sometimes I wonder if he stealthily parks his van behind his building and sneaks into a secret lair underneath his workspace.

Then again, he may end his day in a cozy, average house in his cozy, average bed like other average people.

I do not see him often but he crosses my mind each time I drive by and can see him through the window, perched on his stool, alone.

Is he lonely?

Does his beautiful wife and well-behaved children own his heart?

Or does the needle piercing his vein sustain him just enough to keep him from placing a gun to his temple?

To ask would be to impose on a man whose last name I have never taken the time to learn.

Until the day his corpse lies cold in a casket, I will wonder what Alfie does after he turns the sign from Open to Closed.

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Beautiful Slumber

I kiss your forehead with gentle passion after tousling your uncombed, caramel locks with my neon yellow nails.

I caress your tattered face with my fingertips as your eyelids shiver in your slumber.

I perch my knee upon your thigh and stretch my torso across your broad, stone hard chest and feel your breathing and hear your beating heart.

I open my eyes to find each strand of your hair in its perfect place and my yellow polish chewed away.

I see your face powdered to perfection and your eyes are still as you rest.

I place my hand upon your weak and decomposing chest. I do not feel your breathing.

The heart makes the loudest sound as it breaks.

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Ivy PlateAs she sits in the uncomfortable wooden chair at the dining table, she is reminded Of how much they misunderstand her. She is alone in the room filled with family. She stares at the ivy pattern on her plate as she tunes in and out of the conversation.

On the inside, she is weak from the heartache. She thinks she sees distaste in her mother’s blue-green eyes even though they are hidden Behind finger printed bifocals. On the outside, she laughs as she separates a single pea from the mound. She stabs it with unintended force and pops it into her mouth, devouring it. It is nothing now.

She silently stands from the table and carries the soiled dishes to the sink. She dips her hands into the dark, soapy water and searches for the dishcloth. Her eyes scan the dark lawn outside the window. The rain is falling like grenades onto the grass causing mud to form around the rose bushes. Her eyes fill with salted tears as she too is pelted with agonizing thoughts. She listens to the group roar with laughter and a tear falls gently into the dingy dishwater.

She lifts a plate from the marble counter and wipes the bits of mashed potatoes from its surface. She notices a deep, long crack across the center. It is not a small chip in the ivy design that should have only blemished it. It is a faulty foundation. One wrong movement and the plate will shatter into tiny shards of glass, Never to return to its original perfection.

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Garbage PileCheap garbage bags always rip. The mound of things lies motionless on the asphalt. Violation of privacy.

A sheet of stickers flutters in the windunderneath a lifeless Barbie with a severed leg. A rainbow of scrunchies rims the edges of the pileand glitter illuminates a photograph of a long forgotten boy band.

A frayed make up brush, caked with pink blushpairs with the empty eyeshadow container. Beads from the broken necklace scatter into the grass. A busted watch stares as if asking for the time.

An envelope is open,spilling it’s contents of recent photographs.A tattered driver’s license is faced down on a hill of torn Kleenex.Mascara seems to streak everything.

To the parents, this pile is a collection of shattered memories and lost time. To the daughter, it is a group of stepping stones leading her on a new path. But to the garbage man cleaning up the garbage pile,it is just another day wasted.

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FlawlessFirst glance hides all flaws. Perfect in his own skin. Careless of observations of passers-by. Secrets hidden only under the surface. Conversation proves imperfections. Past days sinfully fulfilled, Memories clouded by smoke,Sleeping daylight away and Living in a haze too thick to clear.

One night, too close to him to breathe, Attraction rising like never before. Conversing of nothing. Anything to keep his mind on mine. Unveiling his secrets… Fearing the grave alone, Only danced with true love once. History hidden behind dark eyes, Amazing eyes,

Eyes I know look into his soul. Dreams of his lips on my mouth. Thoughts of his hand in mine. Bodies intertwined But in what?

Passion or lust? Experiment or yearning? Perhaps his hands are ways to escape. Finally run away. Forever a desire of mine,

But now my desire lies in his arms. Fingers tracing my figure. Lips pressing lightly over my skin. Lost behind my imperfections He lifts the veil that I hide under. For once, I am content. He sees no flaws… Only beauty.

Wrapped in his sheets, Watching his eyes, Feeling his touch, Heart racing, sweat beading, Bodies rising in the heat of passion. Is it passion? Can it be only wanting someone

And caring for their life? Needing them to breathe. Holding the pillow so tight Wishing they were there So that you could fall… Asleep or in love? Can care and passion combine, Become something more. Can it be love?

His old soul and his young spirit. His dark past and his flaws. Him in all of his perfection. But to tell him would be too much. Problems arise when love becomes more than a thought. So for now I dwell On passion and care, In hope and lust, And one day… Someday… Our story will end with our earth standing still. With forever becoming our playground With love becoming our game.

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The Garden

The blades of glass surrounding the four sides of the dirt were vibrant green like emeralds swaying in the breeze.

The fine, fresh dirt was packed tightly around the fuzzy bases of the ripening tomato plants.

At the ends of the vines sprouting from the earth hung the plump fruit untouched by hungry pests.

Soon the tomatoes would be plucked from their rest and piled into a hand-crafted wicker basket

Which would be delivered to the kind and grieving neighbors by the sweet old man with the garden.

Tomatoes could never heal the pain of not knowing who took your only child,

But the child, secretly resting underneath the cold dirt, had healed the malnourished garden.

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Bones Crack She stared at the ceiling. Her eyes followed the prominent crack to the other side of the room. Bones crack. She loved him. They were to be married on Sunday. Sunday was pure white with pale lace. He only wanted her money. They were to be divorced on Monday. Monday was pink like the line on the test. She grew falsely for nine months. He was never there anymore. Tuesday was green with envy. She needed a baby before he came home. Her victim looked into her cold eyes. Bones crack. The blade tore the woman’s flesh. The baby screamed in unison with its mother. Wednesday was scarlet like the blood that gushed from the wound.

He will love this baby. He held the child as the phone rang. Thursday was black with fear as the evidence was revealed.

She screamed as they closed the door. He never came to visit her. Friday, Saturday, Sunday were all gray like her new gown. Her eyes followed the crack once more. She twisted her wrist in the leather strap. Bones crack.

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NurseryIn the corner of the baby pink room, underneath the lace covered window, is the crib lined with pale yellow ruffles.

Above the crib is a bright mobile of fairytale creatures that dance and bounce to a calming tune.

To the right of the crib is a rocking chair, shining in its fresh white paint, awaiting its occupants.

To the left of the crib is a new dresserfilled with tiny, frilly clothes and miniature, crocheted bonnets.

The crib is untouched, made up like a catalog picture.

The mobile is song-less and still. The dresser is closedwith the infant sized outfits tucked neatly inside. The rocking chair is motionless and patient.

The nursery is as quietas it will ever be.

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TECHNICALWriting

A creative mind is often difficult to shut off. There is always a reging desire to make a sentence details so tideously that no characteristic is left to the imagination. There is a yearning to describe ever fold of a flower and every freckle on a child’s nose because that is what creative writers are born to do. We are obsessed with imagery. Until I discovered how to incorporate my creative tendencies into my technical writing, I was completely mortified to write technically. How would I express detail if I had to stick to facts?

Through many of my courses at the University of North Alabama including Technical Writing and Grant Writing I learned to research effectively and produce interesting and informative pieces of work while maintaining a bit of creative flare.

The piece that I have chosen to include in this portfolio is a “How To” piece created to help people prepare for one of the most popular sugeries in America. Technical works should not have to be boring and intimidating. After learning the skills needed to write technically I decided that I could use the newfound talent to help others.

During my Senior year of college, the ablity to mix creative and technical writing aid off. In March of 2014 I secured an internship at the NASA Space and Rocket Center writing for their website. The experience was a fantastic way to test my technical skills and reveal that I am capable of writing anything so long as my words are flowing onto paper.

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How to Have a Successful Breast Augmentation

Introduction

Breast augmentations are a growing fad among women of all ages. Most women view them-selves as imperfect if their breasts do not mir-ror those of Kate Upton’s on the cover of Sports Illustrated. Though many will never end up on the cover of a magazine, they still want to feel and look sexy. Not only are women dissatisfied with the size of their breasts, there is a rising obsession to eliminate natural asymmetry. With a simple procedure, many women can have their dream body. Breast enlargements have become as common as getting a manicure and they are typically just as safe, but before making a life changing, body altering decision, one must understand the pros, cons, and every aspect of the surgery thoroughly before going under the knife. The following instructions will prepare a prospective patient for a breast aug-mentation with information provided by Hed-den Plastic Surgery of Birmingham, Alabama and Dr. Hedden’s patients.

Overview

The following instructions will prepare the reader for every aspect of surgery including before, during, and after procedures. It will also provide information on the risks of un-dergoing the surgery. After reading, you will be equipped with a clear understanding of the surgery and will be able to make an informed decision.

Risks Many people do not view plastic surgery as a “real” surgery, but any task that requires cut-ting open a body and inserting a foreign object is definitely considered surgery and should be taken seriously. Before continuing with a breast augmentation, you must first make sure the de-cision is one in which she is comfortable. Take into consideration “gut” feelings and make sure that the surgery is worth the risks.

Risks may include:

• Scarring

• Asymmetry

• Loss of sensation

• Deflation

• Capsular contracture- A capsular con-tracture occurs when a membrane forms

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around the implant. It may cause it to feel hard and tight and may prevent it from settling as intended. A contracture has to be surgically removed. The pro-cess is much like the original surgery.

• Hematoma- A hematoma occurs when there is postoperative bleeding inside the breasts. Small amount of blood may disappear over time but if swelling, vom-iting, and/or pain in the breast and/or abdomen occur the hematoma may have to be surgically removed. The process will also be much like the original sur-gery.

o Note: Capsular contractures and hematomas may only occur in one breast and can happen at any time. This is normal though there is no explanation as to why this may happen.

Conditions

In order to be a candidate for breast augmenta-tion, one must be in good physical health and able to withstand the body trauma.

Requirements

• 2 sports bras- for support

• Multivitamins- for immune health

• Neosporin- for any gaps in stitches

• Mederma- to prevent scarring

• Ice packs- to prevent swelling

• Driver’s license- for day of surgery

• Insurance card- for day of surgery

Medications

The following medications are prescribed to the patient and should not be taken by any-one other than the patient. These medications should not be used for any purposes other than to aid the patient after surgery.

• Pain

• Muscle Spasms

• Nausea

• General Healing

Implants

There are a few options when it comes to im-plants and deciding which is best for you may be difficult if you are unsure of the differences in types and placement options.

The implant options include:

• Saline implants are filled with sterile salt water. If a saline implant leaks it will collapse and the liquid will be absorbed

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by the body and no harm will be done to the body. These tend to be the better priced option that most people select, however, the feel is not as natural as oth-er options.

• Silicone implants are filled with elastic gel. If a silicone implant ruptures, the gel will not leak into the body or cause any bodily harm. These are more pricey and a little heavier feeling, but they also look and feel more real.

The placement options include:

• Over the muscle which is typically only recommended if there is excess breast tissue.

• Under the muscle which is more painful but looks more natural and is the most commonly recommended.

The incision is also important. There are four incision placement options including:

• Inframammery incision is underneath the breast and leaves about a one inch scar that is easy to hide.

• Transaxillary incision is in the armpit and is usually more painful and harder to heal.

• Periareolar incision is through the areo-

la. This is only recommended when you are also doing a lift so that you will have fewer scars. This can, however, damage nerves in the nipple.

• Transumbilical Breast Augmentation (TUBA) is done through the belly but-ton. The incision is made in the inner top of the belly button and tubes are inserted and pushed into the breast. The implants are inserted through the tube and filled when in place. There will be no scarring with this procedure, but if you do not care for the area where the tubes were inserted you will develop scar tissue in your stomach which causes a “V” shape to appear underneath the skin.

The Procedure

There are many aspects of any surgery that are left to the imagination. Many surgeries are not explained thoroughly due to the fact that it is time consuming for the doctor and his staff. Therefore, the following compilation will explain every step that is a part of the breast augmentation process from weeks before to weeks after to better prepare you, the patient, for what can be expected.

1. The Consultation

Upon deciding to have a breast augmentation 35

you must first schedule a consultation. It will occur as follows:

• You will first change into a robe. You will only be required to remove your top and bra.

• The nurse will ask a series of questions about family health history.

• She will then allow you to try on differ-ent sizes implants in a sports bra. Im-plant sizes are measured in cc’s (cubic centimeters) and 15 cc’s are equivalent to about a tablespoon. Be aware that the sizes will look different inside your body; this activity will give you a good idea of what you may look like after surgery. You do not have to make the de-cision the day of the consultation.

• Next, the doctor will come in to exam-ine your breast. He will tell you what the best options for you are and will answer any questions you may have about the surgery.

• When you leave the consultation you can schedule your surgery date. This requires a payment of 10% of your total charges. Surgery prices vary. Total pay-ment may be made by credit card (fees may apply), cashier’s check, or debit card.

o Note: Many debit cards have a daily limit so be sure to call before surgery and change it.

2. The Weeks Before

• Take a multivitamin to better your immune system and avoid the following medications:

• Participate in the “rice test”. This re-quired you to measure rice and put it in a bag to test sizes. The test can be found on Dr. Hedden’s website.

3. The Day Before

• Bathe with antibacterial soap.

• Do not eat eight hours prior to your scheduled surgery.

o Note: You will be notified the day before to confirm your surgery time.

4. The Day of Surgery

The day of your surgery may be a little intimidating, but the first step is to relax. Your doctor knows what he is doing so do not question his authority and expertise. You are in good hands. The procedure time can vary due to what all is going on in the office that day. There are many situations that could cause a

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surgery to run over its scheduled time so be patient (hence why you are the pa-tient). Your surgery day should progress as follows:

• You will need to fill out all of your paperwork when you first get there. After that, you are ready to prep for surgery.

• You will have to give a urine sample for a pregnancy test. Keep this in mind before you make a pit stop too soon.

• When the nurse calls you back you will go into a room and change into a robe. You may keep on your panties and socks. Sur-gery rooms are typically chilly.

• The nurse will then start your in-travenous drip. This will be placed in your hand. She may also ask you questions about your medical history. This is also the time to make your final decisions about your surgery.

• The doctor will come see you to make his markings for surgery. Ask him any questions you may have because you will not see him again.

• Next, the anesthesiologist will come in and ask more medical history questions. Then he will start inject the anesthesia into your IV. You will become drowsy at this point.

• He will then walk you through a set of doors into the operating room where you will lay yourself on the operating table.

• There will be a hose underneath your blanket that will blow warm air to keep you from getting cold.

• You may hear people talking and you will probably be looking at the light over the table. Typically this is the last part that you will remember.

• When you wake up do not panic. You may feel pressure and pain within your chest. You may also be shaky and drowsy but this is normal.

• Once you are completely awake, the nurse will give you two shots. One is for pain and the other is for nausea. She will then help you get dresses and you will be wheeled out of Recovery in a

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wheelchair.

• You should have a driver/caretak-er to take you to a hotel if you do not live close to the office. Stay away from the stairs and be care-ful in the elevator. You may still be a little weak.

• IMPORTANT: You need to walk at least three times for several minutes before you go to sleep for the night. Be sure to take deep breaths to stretch the muscles in your chest. Be sure to take your medications even if you do not think you need them. Also, have your caretaker wake you to give you the medication. If you wake up in full blown pain it is hard to get under control.

o Note: If your implant is over the muscle you will encounter less pain.

5. The Day After

The day after surgery you will be re-quired to return for a follow up. The surgeon will simply examine your breast and, if there are no problems, you will be able to go home.

The next day you may experience the following:

• Soreness

• Drowsiness

• Trouble remembering details

• Swelling

• Nausea

• Vomiting

• Stiffness

• Inability to lift arms

All of these symptoms are normal and the medication should aid in the relief of these issues.

6. The Weeks After

The first 3-5 days are the toughest. After that, pain should subside though you may still feel discomfort is some instances. There may be a sharp pain in your breasts occasionally which is completely normal and will also subside as you heal. You should expect the following:

• You will not be able to lift anything heavier than a gallon of milk.

• You may not be able to raise arms or hold items for long periods of time.

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• You may not be able to lay flat on your back, on your side, or on your stomach.

• You cannot wear a bra with a wire for 3-4 weeks.

• You may have to limit activities that re-quire excessive movement such as riding a lawn mower.

• Your tape will detach as the stitches heal. DO NOT REMOVE THE TAPE!

• Avoid tanning beds, hot tubs, swim-ming, and taking baths that submerge the tape.

7. The Months After

• After you are fully healed you may re-turn to normal daily activities.

• You may use Mederma and Neosporin daily to prevent scarring and help the in-cision heal thoroughly. Do not use these products until instructed by your doctor.

• You may be required to attend a one month check-up. It is recommended that you go to make sure all is healing well.

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To beContinued...