Darci picoult biography for kids
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The Invisible Pregnancy
Maya, age five, hands me an anniversary gift along with a question. Her family has joined me and my husband, Larry, for dinner. She places a candle in my palm and looks up at me.
“Darci, did all of your children die?”
I swallow hard and look at Maya’s father for help. He is busy feeding her baby brother. Her mother is talking to Larry.
“Did they?” she asks again.
“No Maya. I haven’t had children yet.”
She looks at me, confused, and twirls a noodle into her mouth.
“But Larry and I are going to adopt a baby from China.”
Her face lights up. “Is Larry Chinese?”
When I was ten years old, I read The Good Earth by Pearl S. Buck and fantasized about adopting a baby from China. One night, I snuck into my mom’s makeup and extended my eyes with thick black eyeliner. I sleeked back my curls with Dippity-do, slid into one of her dresses, tiptoed outside, and rang the doorbell. When my mom opened the door, she was greeted by my cry, “I want my daughter!”
In seven or eight months, Larry and I will receive a referral of our daughter from China. We will be given her name, picture, medical records, and any other information on her from the orphanage. We will not k
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"I Had the Cancer No One Talks About"
It began with a bump. The size of a pinhead. Innocuous. An innocuous little pinhead of a bump on my vulva. Given that my gynecologist said the bump was probably nothing, I laughed it off. Which, in turn, made my bump mad. Very mad. It wanted my attention. And so it grew. I smeared it in medicine. It grew more. More medicine. More growth. Hanukkah came. Then Christmas. A war raged between us. I went to battle in the middle of the night with salt baths and creams. Prayed for its departure as my children lit menorah candles and friends came and went, toasting the new year.
My resolution that year, , was to go back to my gynecologist. I moved my feet slowly into the stirrups and pointed to the bump. Her face grew very still: "How did this happen?" An hour later I was getting blood drawn for surgery to remove it.
This all felt a little too familiar: My first gynecological surgery was at age 12, after I discovered a dark spot on one of my labia that turned out to be a pre-cancer. It was removed, along with part of my inner lip, and I was fine. But then the news came out that DES — an anti-miscarriage drug that my mother and millions of other pregnant women used to take — increased daughters' risk of vaginal cancer, an
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darcipicoult
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